


In for the Kill

by etamiss



Category: Dragon Age II
Genre: Alternate Universe - Assassins & Hitmen, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Implied/Referenced Rape/Non-con, M/M, Minor Character Death, Past Abuse, Sexual Harassment, Torture, Violence
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-05-09
Updated: 2016-02-07
Packaged: 2018-03-29 19:24:02
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 9
Words: 33,583
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3907729
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/etamiss/pseuds/etamiss
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Hawke and Varric run a small yet accomplished criminal empire, specialising in theft, espionage, and assassinations. When a big new job comes in, Hawke goes to seek some outside help from Fenris, an infamous (and expensive) assassin who just happens to be in Kirkwall. (AU with canon setting but different career choices)</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> I feel like I should warn upfront that this gets pretty grim in places. /o\ The noncon warning primarily relates to past events -- everything between Hawke and Fenris is fully consensual.

"Well, looks like the boss is in a good mood tonight."

The guard's comment is followed by an appreciative whistle from his colleague and Fenris narrows his eyes, peering down from his perch on one of the beams criss-crossing the hallway. There are only two guards, both of them burly, scarred, and forming the last line of defence before Lord Sauveterre's bedchamber, but when Fenris catches sight of the serving boy caught between them, he begins to re-evaluate his decision not to kill them both.

"P-please, messere," the boy stutters. "I have my duties to attend to."

The second guard chuckles, hand sliding down to grope the boy. He can't be more than twenty, still young and skinny compared to the experienced bulk of the guards, and he skitters away from the guard's touch as he pleads, "I need to get back to-"

"To what?" The first guard catches the boy's jaw, tilting his face up to catch the torchlight. "You expect us to believe you haven't already _attended to your duties_ with the boss for the night?"

The boy flushes in shame and Fenris' hand curls around his dagger. After all his late-night exits from Danarius' quarters, he's intimately familiar with this kind of derision; even with formal slavery abolished, the Free Marches have never been that far removed from Tevinter.

Keeping his eyes on the guards, he eases himself across the beams above their heads. Their attention is still on the boy, hands creeping over his back and thighs, but when he squirms away from their grip, they're too lazy (and, Fenris guesses, too drunk) to pursue it.

"Just wait 'til next time!" one of them calls after him. "You can show us what the boss sees in you."

The boy doesn't look back as he bolts down the hallway and Fenris smirks to himself. Lord Sauveterre is his target but the two guards will be an added bonus -- when the Lord's body is discovered, they'll lose their jobs at worst and their heads at best.

It's almost pathetically easy to slip past them. Deep in conversation about their plans for the serving boy, they don't even look around as Fenris pulls his hood up over his hair and lowers himself down in front of the door to Lord Sauveterre's bedroom.

The lock provides even less of a challenge than the guards and Fenris casts one last glance down the hallway before he slips inside.

The room is dark and silent, the heavy curtains parted by the breeze as the moonlight trickles in through the window. Pausing by the door, Fenris lets his eyes adjust to the darkness, taking in the expensive furniture, the puddle of discarded clothes and finally the unmoving shape of Lord Sauveterre sprawled across the bed.

Fenris' bare feet make no noise as he crosses the room, the moonlight gleaming off the blade in his hand, and as he creeps up alongside the Lord's bed, he finds he's almost looking forward to finishing the job.

That is until he sees the Lord's dull eyes staring up at him. 

Fenris starts in shock, expecting a fight, but hesitates when the Lord doesn't move. A closer look reveals the sheen of the blood pooling on his expensive sheets, seeping from the stab wound in his chest, and Fenris barely has time to wonder who killed him before a door clatters open behind him.

His lyrium flares when he whips around, expecting a knife to the back or an arrow aimed at his head, but he freezes when confronted by a tall, dark-haired man holding a candlestick and staring at him in horror.

"By the Maker," the man gasps, looking between Fenris, Fenris' knife and the knife-shaped hole in the Lord's corpse. "You killed him! You killed Bernard!" He lets out a distraught sob. "You murderer!"

Fenris swallows. He's weighing up the advantages of just snapping the man's neck and running when the man's sobs give way to an amused chuckle.

"I'm sorry," the man says with a smile, Orlesian accent switching to something closer to Fereldan. "I couldn't resist."

Fenris stares.

"Oh, don't worry," the man says cheerfully. "I killed him."

"You-" Fenris doesn't lower his blade. "Why?"

"Because he was an ass?" the man offers. "I figured I'd help you out while I was in the neighbourhood. I won't try to steal any of your pay though," he says with a grin. "Cross my heart."

Fenris' attempts to stop himself gaping aren't wildly successful. It's not the first time he's encountered another assassin on the job -- by the time someone's done enough to merit death at Fenris' rates, there's often more than one contract out for their heads -- but it's definitely the first time another assassin hasn't tried to kill him.

When the man steps forever, Fenris braces for an attack but he stares blankly when the man just holds out his hand. 

"I'm Hawke," he says, as though they're meeting in a tavern instead of over a corpse. "Not that there are many glowing assassins out there but you _are_ Fenris, aren't you? I really don't want to have to tell Varric I found the wrong guy again."

"Again?"

"In my defence, it was very sunny that day," Hawke says. "He looked like he was glowing." His smile is lopsided when he asks, "So, is that a yes on being Fenris?"

Fenris backs up. He can't picture Danarius sending a man like this after him -- can't picture Danarius even being in the same room with a man like this, if he's honest -- but he hasn't survived this long by being careless. "Who wants to know?"

"Someone looking for your help," Hawke says calmly. "I'm not going to hurt you, I promise."

It would be more convincing if he hadn't just killed the man lying in the bed right next to them. Fenris keeps his distance, inching back around Lord Sauveterre's expensive furniture as he asks, "What help you do want from me? If you think I owe you anything for killing him, you-"

"Hey! Who's in there?"

The shout from the hallway makes them both jump and Fenris curses under his breath as he scans the room for another way out. He moves quickly out of reach when Hawke dashes forward to lock the door before the guards can push it open, and he keeps his back to the wall as Hawke says, "The window. Come on."

Hawke runs to it, tossing his candlestick aside and shoving an antique chaise longue out of the way. Left with very few options, Fenris follows, glancing down at the drop as he asks, "Are there balconies?"

Hawke grunts as he pries the window open. "Not exactly."

"Ledges?"

"Not in the traditional sense of the word."

"Then how-"

"There's a big shrub." Hawke's hand closes around Fenris' wrist before Fenris can ask how Sauveterre's gardening arrangements are in any way relevant and he flashes him a smile. "Watch your elbows."

"My-"

His question turns to a yelp of terror when Hawke bundles them both out of the window without further preamble. The air whistles past them as they drop, plummeting down from the highest room in the building, and Fenris squeezes his eyes shut as he braces for the agony of impact.

"Nnnph."

The groan slips from Hawke's mouth as they crash down, Fenris on top of Hawke and Hawke on top of a sizeable hedge. The impact rattles Fenris' teeth, his body colliding with Hawke's and his elbow slamming into the meat of Hawke's upper arm, and from the whimper Hawke lets out, he can't imagine the landing was any more comfortable on his side.

"Elbows," Hawke mutters, rubbing his sore bicep as Fenris scrambles down from the hedge. "Always the blighted elbows."

Not reassured by the implication that this is something he's done before, Fenris backs up as Hawke climbs down, scanning the courtyard for guards. Hawke dusts himself off, plucking a twig out of his hair, and gives Fenris yet another smile. 

Fenris wonders if he hit his head at some point during the fall. (Or a lot as a child.)

"Well," Hawke says, "not my smoothest exit but definitely not my worst. I didn't expect the guards to catch on so soon."

Fenris scowls. "Perhaps if you didn't start shouting 'murderer' at me while we were standing over a corpse." 

"You make a good point," Hawke admits. 

He stretches his arms above his head, rolling his shoulders to work the cricks out, and Fenris can't help but notice just how large he is, especially for someone so agile. He really hopes this isn't going to end in a fight. 

"Come on," Hawke says, beckoning for Fenris to follow. "We should get out of here; the guards'll be along soon."

Across the courtyard, there's a timely clatter of boots on stone and Fenris yields. He keeps his blade drawn as he follows Hawke out of the gardens and around to the servants' exit before they go running out onto the streets surrounding the estate. The guards' shouts are close behind them, orders to "Spread out!" and "Find them!" echoing through the empty streets, and Hawke seems to be enjoying it far too much as he leads Fenris at speed through a deserted square.

He takes a sharp right then a gentle left, setting a fast pace down narrow streets, before yanking Fenris into a darkened alley beside a closed bakery. Fenris shoves him back, sliding his blade up against Hawke's throat to keep him at arm's length as he spits, "Don't."

Hawke raises his hands in surrender. "We're just here to hide," he says quietly. "I promise."

The shouting rises up again in the distance and Fenris lowers his blade to let Hawke push him further into the shadows. Hawke presses him back against the wall, chest rising and falling as he catches his breath, and Fenris takes a sliver of comfort in the sharp length of the blade between them as he watches the street. 

Hawke looms over him, strong arms bracketing him against the wall, but Fenris has no space to argue with his newfound human shield as the guards' footsteps get closer.

Hawke's eyes glitter in the darkness but there's a smile on his lips when he whispers into Fenris' ear, "What are your thoughts on kissing?"

Fenris frowns. "Kissing?"

"For stealth?"

Fenris rolls his eyes, smiling a little in spite of their current situation. He finds himself holding his breath as the guards walk past the end of the alley but even as they peer into the darkness, they don't linger long enough to recognise either of them.

Hawke exhales in relief as they move along and Fenris finally sheathes his blade when Hawke steps back to give him room to breathe.

"Well," Hawke says, running a hand through his hair and locating another twig, "that was bracing."

"I don't make a habit of getting caught," Fenris mutters. He adjusts his hood, unable to shake the unsettled feeling at being caught off-guard during a job. "Although I doubt this is your first run-in with a target's security."

"Not really," Hawke admits. "But at least now they won't think it was the kid who killed him."

Thinking back to the serving boy, hopefully now free from his employer's wandering hands, Fenris gives Hawke a brief nod. "I suppose it wasn't a complete waste."

"That's my goal," Hawke says happily. "Plus we got a great tour of Lord Sauveterre's gardens. Very up-close and detailed."

Fenris shakes his head. "You're a strange man."

Hawke laughs. "You should meet my friends." 

He pauses and tilts his head in a way that reminds Fenris of a dog. (Definitely Fereldan then.) "Actually, you probably _should_ meet my friends. Just to prove I really found you."

Fenris folds his arms. "I'm not going anywhere until you tell me why you've been looking for me."

Hawke purses his lips and is clearly choosing his words carefully when he says, "We have an important job coming up and we need your, uh… expertise."

"The markings," Fenris says flatly. 

"They're an added bonus," Hawke says. "It's you we need."

Fenris raises an eyebrow. "You expect me to believe you're not here to kill me? Or to sell me to whoever hired you?"

"I don't sell people," Hawke says, with more conviction than Fenris expected from someone whose job description includes murder. "As for killing you, it would be pretty difficult for you to help us if you're dead." He looks at him hopefully. "Just hear us out? If you decide you don't want any part of this, you can go on your way, no questions asked."

Fenris hesitates. Trusting people hasn't served him well in the past but then again, none of those people ever used their own body to break Fenris' fall before. (At least not voluntarily.) 

"I will listen," he says eventually, "but that's all. If you try to stop me from leaving-"

"You'll kill us all in a very messy and unpleasant way?" Hawke grins at him. "Deal."

:::

Fenris is not reassured when Hawke takes him straight to a dungeon.

Lord Sauveterre's estate is in the wealthiest part of Kirkwall but rather than retreat to the relative security of the subterranean tunnels, Hawke leads him down into the poorer sections of the city. The streets are quiet, save for patrols of guards and a few drunken stragglers heading home, and Fenris is relieved that no-one stops them when Hawke ducks around the back of a tavern.

He bypasses the side door with its cracked paint, instead ducking under a wooden barrier and slipping down through an open grate. Fenris expects to drop down into a sewer but when Hawke lights a nearby torch to guide the way, he's pleased to see that the stone steps leading downward are surprisingly clean.

As hideouts go, disused holding cells beneath a tavern are pretty impenetrable and as Hawke leads him through heavy door after heavy door, Fenris becomes less and less convinced that this deal was a good decision.

"Nearly there," Hawke says, dragging a metal gate to the side and hammering on the door behind it. "It's me!"

There's a short pause before a woman's voice calls back, "What's the password?"

Hawke's brow crinkles in thought. "Is it blancmange?"

"No."

"Crêpe?"

"No."

"Clafoutis!"

There's another short pause. "Hawke, are you just naming Orlesian desserts?"

"I'm really hungry," Hawke admits. "Just let us in."

"Us?"

The door swings open without any further questions, which is the exact opposite of what Fenris would expect from someone learning that a colleague had brought an uninvited guest to a secret hideout. A woman appears in the gap -- pretty, Fenris notes, with dark hair, bright jewelry, and warm eyes -- but her gaze lingers on the lyrium visible on his palms and feet. "You found him?"

The question is to Hawke, not him, and so Fenris keeps quiet as Hawke says proudly, "I did."

The woman looks back to Hawke. "Do you have leaves in your hair?"

"I do," Hawke says with equal pride. His hand finds Fenris' lower back as he shepherds him inside but Fenris soon comes to a halt as he takes in the rest of their hideout.

It's most comfortable than the outside would suggest, with a quasi-kitchen tucked in one corner and mismatched couches and chairs spread across the small room. A dwarf and an elf are perched on opposite sides of a small table, cards in each of their hands, and a human is propped on one of the couches with a plate of food in his lap.

Hawke walks further inside, apparently oblivious to the way his friends are watching them with interest, and Fenris backs up a little, hand going to his blade under the weight of their stares.

"I think we're scaring the elf."

The comment comes from the dwarf -- light hair, open shirt, easy smile -- and Fenris curtails his retreat as he steps forward and holds his hand out. "Varric Tethras, at your service. You must be Fenris."

Fenris shakes his hand but doesn't confirm his name as he looks at the rest of the group. None of them look particularly bloodthirsty or unstable, which is a good start, but they don't provide any further clue as to why he's here.

"Do you all live here?"

Varric laughs. "That depends on who's looking for us. No, normally I spend my time in a lovely suite of rooms upstairs-" Across the room, the woman snorts. Varric ignores her. "-that I'm very keen to get back to. Down here is just more secure when we're discussing business."

Fenris nods, looking at them afresh. "You're all assassins?"

"Amongst other things," Varric says. "We're a full service group -- assassination, theft, bribery, espionage, you name it. If it's probably illegal, we can probably help."

It's delivered like a sales pitch. The effect is somewhat spoiled, however, when the elf raises her hand to say, "I think murder is definitely illegal, not probably."

Varric sighs. "Thanks, Daisy."

"You're welcome," she says happily.

"Come sit down," Varric says. "You want a drink? Some food?"

"No," Fenris says. While being drugged usually comes before being trapped in unfamiliar holding cells with potentially lethal strangers, he figures it's better not to take any chances. "Thank you."

"I'll take food and drink," Hawke chimes in.

"Good thing you know where to find it," Varric says without sympathy. 

Hawke huffs and Fenris hides his smirk as he takes a seat in one of the more clean-looking chairs. The rest of the group settle in a loose circle, Hawke's mouth soon stuffed with a chunk of sandwich, and Fenris ignores the way his stomach rumbles as Varric leans forward to do the introductions. 

"All right," he says, "you've already met me-"

"Varric's our mastermind," the woman from the door cuts in. 

Hawke makes a noise of protest around his sandwich. "I thought I was the mastermind?"

"You're the assistant mastermind," the woman offers. "Sometimes the mascot."

Hawke scowls. "Why am I the mascot?"

"Because you're pretty."

Hawke considers that for a moment before shrugging in apparent acceptance. "Continue."

Varric rolls his eyes. "So that's me and Hawke. Rivaini over there is Isabela, the best thief in the business. She's a big fan of boats, priceless artefacts, and women who have way more morals than her."

Isabela lets out a fond sigh. "I miss Cassandra."

"On her left is Merrill," Varric says as the elf in question -- dark hair, Dalish markings, quick hands -- gives a wave. "Merrill's great at poisons, tracking, and getting people to tell her things which they'd sworn never to tell another living soul."

Merrill beams. "You just need to ask nicely."

"She's also a mage," Varric adds. 

Fenris can't keep from tensing at that, gaze darting to Merrill as he reconsiders the threat she poses and the best way to take her out. He doesn't miss the glances Hawke and Varric exchange and frustration twists inside him at the realisation of just how much they know about him.

"Understood," Fenris says coldly.

He hates the poorly-hidden pity on Varric's face when he presses on. "And finally this is Anders." 

Anders -- long hair, worn clothes, sharp eyes -- gives a nod of acknowledgement and Varric relaxes back into his spiel. "He's a healer, Grey Warden, apostate mage-"

Fenris tenses again but Hawke slides in to finish Varric's sentence before he can register a protest. "…and occasional table dancer if you play your cards right."

Anders rounds on Hawke. "That was one time!"

"It's a compliment!" Hawke says with a grin. "You were very memorable."

"I-" Anders' face goes pink. "That's not the point."

Hawke just chuckles, giving Fenris a conspiratorial wink. While his tactics aren't exactly subtle, they have the desired effect and Fenris tamps down some of his fear when he sits forward in his chair.

"Sounds like quite a team," he says, with less sarcasm than he would've otherwise afforded them. "Why do you need me?"

"Aesthetics," Isabela says with an admiring sigh. Hawke elbows her sharply.

"We have a big job coming up," Varric says evasively. "It's one that's been in the works for a while but we've finally started to get our ducks in a row."

"Plus now someone's paying us," Isabela says.

"Also true," Varric agrees. "It's an assassination but the target is…"

Anders smiles wryly. "Challenging?"

"Scary?" Merrill suggests.

"A sick bastard who's not long for this world," Hawke finishes firmly. "We're taking him out one way or another but we thought you may be willing to work with us on this."

"For a generous fee, of course," Varric adds.

Fenris shifts in his seat. He's not opposed to the idea of another job but despite them laying it out for him, he's under no illusions that they're keeping just as much hidden. 

"I assume you've done your research," Fenris says. "You know I work alone."

"We do," Hawke says, leaning forward, "but I was sort of hoping you'd make an exception?"

"Why?" Fenris asks. It comes out more bluntly than he intended but after being lured into a dungeon with two mages, he deserves more of an explanation than he's getting. "Why me?"

Hawke gives him a hopeful smile. "Who better than the most accomplished magister killer in Thedas?" 

Fenris straightens in his chair. It's all too easy to forgive their secrecy at the prospect of being able to send a fresh ripple of fear through the magisterium, another bloody reminder of what one of their own created.

His decision is all but made by the time he meets Hawke's eyes with renewed interest. "The target's a magister?"

Varric claps him on the shoulder with a grin. "Welcome to the team, kid."


	2. Chapter 2

"So," Hawke says, flashing Fenris a smile, "we were thinking you could pretend to be a slave."

Fenris stares at him. "No."

At Hawke's side, Varric sighs. "What did I tell you about leading with that?"

"Oh!" Merrill raises her hand. "Not to!"

"Ten points to Daisy," Varric says with a pointed look at Hawke.

Hawke does not seem remotely chastised. "What am I supposed to lead with?"

"Literally anything else," Varric says. "Some background maybe? The general outline of the plan?"

"That was what I was doing!"

"That was definitely not what you were doing."

Hawke opens his mouth to protest but Fenris interrupts before the argument can devolve any further. The sooner he knows his target, the easier it will be to decide whether the prospect of taking out another magister is appealing enough to put up with his supposed partners in crime. "Who am I killing?"

"Magister Corvinus," Isabela says simply.

Fenris frowns as he casts his mind back without success. "I don't know him."

"That's not an uncommon reaction," Varric says. "My sources say he doesn't spend a lot of time in Tevinter. He, uh, likes to travel to the more remote parts of Thedas."

"And find people who won't be missed," Isabela mutters into her drink.

Fenris doesn't miss the way Hawke's hand tightens around his mug, fingers pressing white against the wood as Varric says, "I don't know how much detail you usually need here, elf, but trust me, this guy deserves to die."

Fenris nods. "There are few magisters who deserve any less." He tries to ignore the knowing glance that passes between Isabela and Varric and says instead, "It's rare for a magister to be away from Tevinter for so long. Rumours spread fast when you're not there to silence them."

It was an oft-repeated refrain in Danarius' household and even as he speaks, Fenris knows he's echoing his former master's cadence.

The others don't (and shouldn't) notice and Fenris leans back in his chair as Isabela says, "Well, I hear Corvinus is close to the Archon. _Indecently_ close, some might say."

" _You_ might say," Anders cuts in. "Corvinus is the Archon's cousin, not his lover."

"Psht, this is Tevinter," Isabela says, waving away his complaint. "Who's to say he isn't both?"

Fenris smirks in spite of himself. Rumours of tempestuous love affairs with blood relatives were surprisingly common among the Minrathous elite.

"Whatever he is," Anders says, "he has enough connections to keep himself secure while he's away from Tevinter."

Fenris purses his lips in consideration. A target with a low political profile isn't ideal as far as he's concerned but a dead magister is always preferable to a live one. "Where is he now?"

"Close," Varric says. "I have it on good authority that he's holed up a few hours outside of Wildervale."

"I don't know if living comfortably in a well-defended castle counts as 'holed up'," Anders says.

"What are you, my editor now?" Varric grumbles. "What matters is that he's close and likely to stay that way for a couple of weeks at least."

Sitting back in the chair, Fenris contemplates his approach. Remote fortresses are a challenge but after years of killing for pay, he's confident that he's up to the task.

"I can handle the infiltration," he says. "And the assassination."

"Alone?" Merrill frowns. "He's very dangerous. I don't think that's sensible."

Before Fenris can mock the idea of a Dalish mage being concerned about a sensible course of action, Isabela chimes in to agree. "She's right, handsome. As much as I'd like to watch you slink your way through a whole fortress, this should be a group effort."

"Plus I spent all this time coming up with a plan," Hawke says.

Varric clears his throat.

" _We_ spent all this time coming up with a plan," Hawke corrects smoothly. "Together. As a team."

Varric cuffs him around the head as he leans forward. "Corvinus is having a party in a few days. Very secretive, very exclusive, and very much where we want to be in order to kill him."

"Apparently he makes creepy friends everywhere he goes," Isabela says with a grimace. "They're all mages, all with a penchant for dark magic."

Fenris can't hide his sneer of distaste. "Perhaps it reminds him of home."

"You know, not all mages are relentlessly evil," Anders mutters. "A lot of us are perfectly nice people."

Fenris refrains from rolling his eyes. It's a struggle.

"Anyway," Varric says, a little louder than necessary, "we need to get into that party. Anders and Merrill are going in as Lord and Lady Evil Mage-"

"Do I really need to have a beard this time?" Anders interrupts. "I can be evil without having terrible facial hair."

"But I liked your beard," Merrill says sadly. "It looked like a rabbit."

Perhaps wisely, Varric decides to ignore them. "As I was saying, we have most of the pieces in place. We just need one more thing, which we're hoping you can help us get."

Fenris raises an eyebrow. "And what's that?"

The broad grin on Hawke's face is not reassuring. "The password."

 

:::

 

The password, as it turns out, is known by a balding, beady-eyed merchant named Barnaby.

Perched on a table in Hawke's warehouse of choice, Fenris remains undecided as to whether his kidnapping skills have dramatically improved or whether Barnaby is just an embarrassingly easy person to kidnap.

"Look, fellas," Barnaby says hopefully, "we can work this out!" He's blindfolded, with ropes holding his arms and legs to the chair, but he still looks around the warehouse as if having a normal conversation. "You want money? I can work with that -- I got this Nevarran shipbuilder who owes me big."

Across the room, Isabela rolls her eyes and picks at the hem of her dress with a dagger.

It takes some effort for Fenris to keep still. He folds his hands in his lap and leaves his weapons sheathed as Barnaby continues to babble, "But hey, if there's something else you want, just name it. I got access to jewels, slaves, artefacts, rare and exotic plants, whatever you need."

Fenris bristles at the mention of slaves but doesn't move from his seat on the table. It's a test -- Hawke wasn't particularly subtle about that fact -- but it's one Fenris is determined not to fail. (Even if he is certain he could get Barnaby to talk faster than Hawke can.)

While being asked not to interrogate a slimy informant is far easier than some of Danarius' tests of obedience -- being ordered not to eat wasn't one of Fenris' favourites -- he still can't help the feeling of relief when Hawke comes strolling into the warehouse.

"Sorry," Hawke calls around a mouthful of food. "I stopped to buy cake."

Fenris blinks. He's spent the last two days at Hawke's side, creeping from rooftop to rooftop as they tracked Barnaby's movements, but he's still struggling to get a read on Hawke himself.

For her part, Isabela seems to have no such issues with Hawke's priorities and claps in delight as Hawke throws her a cake. Cream smears on her lip when she takes a bite and Fenris averts his eyes as she licks it off with a knowing grin.

"How about it?" Hawke asks. He ignores Barnaby entirely as he presents the bag of cakes to Fenris. "Do infamously terrifying assassins like snacks?"

Barnaby's head snaps towards them. "What was that about terrifying assassins?"

Fenris shakes his head. "I don't need cakes."

"Are you sure?" Hawke jiggles the bag in his face. "The glazed apple pastries are really good."

Fenris presses his lips together. "Maybe one," he allows. "It's been a long day."

Hawke's grin is wide and genuine, and he claps Fenris on the shoulder as he picks out the promised apple pastry. "I knew I'd wear you down."

"You asked him twice," Isabela says, demolishing the last of her cake. "I don't know if that counts as 'wearing down'. There wasn't exactly much effort involved."

"I don't know," Barnaby chimes in, "I don't think we should discount the solid work this gentleman obviously put in."

Isabela's mouth falls open. "Are you _taking sides_?"

"Who, me? No, no," Barnaby says quickly. "No side-taking here. In fact, if you were to untie me, I'd be happy to get out of your way and let you work it out between you."

"How very altruistic of you," Hawke says. He crosses to the chair in two long strides and pulls the blindfold off with one sharp tug. "How's it going, Barney?"

Barnaby looks up in surprise. "Hawke?" He laughs nervously. "You scared the shit out of me, man."

Hawke shrugs. "I try."

Barnaby's eyes jump to Isabela, lingering on her boots and cleavage, but his gaze is no less lecherous when he turns his attention to Fenris and lets out a low whistle. "Maker's taint, Hawke, are you recruiting based on looks now? Because I gotta tell you, that's a pretty sound policy." He licks his lips and nods to Isabela in greetings. "What's up, sweetheart?"

"Not you if you keep talking," Isabela says. She twirls one of her daggers in her hand and Fenris smirks when Barnaby swallows hard.

"So," Barnaby says, changing tack, "what can I do for you, Hawke? If it's about that dead elf near the docks, it was an accident, I swear. I meant to kill a totally different guy."

"It's not about the dead elf," Hawke says flatly.

"Great!" Barnaby says. "Forget I said anything. Of course there are no dead elves. I'm just getting light-headed from being knocked out and cooped up here all day." He looks over to Fenris. "Which was very professional by the way! Some excellent stealth kidnapping there. You just don't get that quality around here anymore."

"Shut up, Barney."

Barnaby's gaze cuts back to Hawke. "Absolutely. Shutting up now."

"I'm a reasonable guy, Barney," Hawke says. "I don't want anyone to get hurt here."

Barnaby's objection is silenced by a raise of Hawke's eyebrows and Isabela takes a seat on the table next to Fenris as Hawke continues, "So I'm going to level with you. You know how much I value honesty."

Isabela snorts but Hawke presses on. "Here's how this works: you tell us what we want to know and we let you go. Does that sound like a deal?"

"Sounds great," Barnaby says. "Very honest and upstanding. I like that in a person." He clears his throat. "What can I help you with?"

"Magister Corvinus." Hawke folds his arms. "You remember him, don't you? Old guy, grey hair, long robes, likes slaughtering innocent people for fun."

Barnaby gulps. "Sorry, man. Doesn't ring a bell."

Hawke's punch lands before Fenris even registers that he's moving. The blow is hard and sudden and Fenris straightens with interest as Barnaby groans in pain, spitting blood onto the dirty floor.

"Now why don't I believe you?" Hawke asks. He folds his arms across his chest and Fenris is struck once again by just how large Hawke is. "I know you've been organising deliveries out to Wildervale for a party the good magister is throwing in two days. I know you're supposed to be overseeing things on the night."

"Overseeing things?" Barnaby tries for a smile. "Come on, Hawke, you know I've never been good at overseeing. Or any kind of seeing, really -- I ever tell you about that time I drove my wagon into that angry pig? He was-"

Hawke hits him again.

Fenris doesn't take his eyes off Barnaby when he reels back and glares up at Hawke. "You know, I liked you a lot better when you didn't kidnap me and punch me in the head."

"Those were the days," Hawke agrees. "If it helps, the sooner you tell me the password for Corvinus' party, the sooner I can stop punching you."

"Password?" Barnaby frowns. It isn't very convincing. "I don't know any password."

Hawke sighs.

Another punch lands and Fenris leans in to whisper to Isabela, confused, "I could end this."

"I know," Isabela whispers back.

"Why would he bring us here if not to use us?"

Isabela doesn't take her eyes off Hawke. "For the same reason he didn't bring Merrill."

Fenris' brow furrows. From the brief introductions three days ago, he remembers Merrill being described as good at extracting information and his curiosity about Hawke's motives increases further.

Isabela provides no further explanation, watching passively as Hawke and Barnaby trade denials, punches and insults (in that order), and Fenris shifts uncomfortably on the table beside her.

While he's willing to put his skills to use for the team, he can't help but chafe at Hawke's overt display of dominance. He can accept the first test, can understand Hawke's need to ensure he isn't a loose cannon who'll kill an informant before extracting what they need, but he bristles at the idea of being forced to sit and stay like a dog while Hawke does a job that Fenris could do in a heartbeat.

He's on the verge of leaving, of casting off Hawke's authority just as he did Danarius', but Hawke turns before he can push himself to his feet.

"I'm getting nowhere with this."

Fenris' eyebrows shoot up. Admittedly, he hasn't had much experience of teamwork but this kind of candour from the person in charge is an unexpected surprise.

"Because I don't know anything!" Barnaby wheezes from behind Hawke.

Hawke ignores him. "Fenris, could you give it a shot?"

The courtesy is also new. Off-kilter, Fenris stands up from the table and walks over to where Barnaby is still bound to the chair. The lyrium simmers along his markings, glowing a ghostly blue, and it's only when Fenris is fist-deep in the man's chest that he remembers what his goal is.

"What the fuck?" Barnaby bellows.

His face is ashen as he looks down at the arm in his chest and Fenris can feel the shift of muscle and blood against his phantom fingers when Barnaby's breathing picks up in panic. "What in the Void are you? Get out of me!"

"What is the password for Corvinus' party?" Fenris asks.

"Venenum!" Barnabus gasps. "The password's venenum. Now please just take your fucking hand out of my fucking chest, Maker's arse-"

Fenris glances back at Hawke. He's confident Barnaby's telling the truth -- using the Tevinter word for poison to gain entry to a dinner party is a particularly magisterial touch -- but he hasn't forgotten that he's still being tested.

"It's the truth," Isabela says from the table. "He's too close to soiling his trousers to think of a decent lie."

Fenris nods and looks to Hawke. "Would you have me kill him?"

"What?" Barnaby jerks, still impaled on Fenris' ghostly arm. "No! No killing! That wasn't part of the deal!" He thrashes, heart pounding against Fenris' fingers. "What happened to honesty?"

Isabela raises her eyebrows. "You just told us you killed someone."

"Yeah, but I was real honest about it," Barnaby counters. "Come on, Hawke, you can't let him-"

"Enough," Hawke says. There's a flash of regret in his eyes when he looks at Fenris. "Let him go. We had a deal."

Fenris tries not to think what it says about him that he obeys instantly. His hand slips free from Barnaby's chest, the blood warm and tacky on his skin as his arm solidifies, and he steps back to let Hawke take the lead once again.

Barnaby shudders in the chair, face smeared with blood from Hawke's punches and chest still heaving with relieved breathes. His limbs stay limp as Hawke cuts the ropes and he looks up at Hawke with a dazed scowl. "You're a real asshole sometimes."

"Me?" Hawke feigns shock. "Never."

Isabela chuckles as Hawke hauls Barnaby to his feet and points him towards the door. "Thanks for your help, Barney."

"Fuck you too," Barnaby grouses. He sways at first but soon gathers pace as he staggers towards the door to the warehouse. "Should've known you were recruiting based on insanity rather than looks. Shady bastards the lot of you."

"Nice talking with you!" Hawke calls after him.

Barnaby manages one last curse before the door slams shut behind him.

Slightly disappointed about not finishing things more lethally, Fenris wipes the blood off his hand but doesn't voice his protest. Hawke's been a decent enough ally this far and Fenris isn't about to lose his chance at killing another magister by talking back to his (temporary) leader.

"So," Isabela says, eyes on the closed door, "what do you think are the chances of him ambushing us on our way home?"

"Oh, one hundred percent," Hawke says, gathering up his pack and shoving a whole pastry in his mouth. "I call dibs on his belt."

Fenris blinks. "You intend to kill him anyway?"

"In self-defence only," Hawke says, putting a hand to his heart. "I'm a man of my word."

Isabela laughs and Fenris finds himself revising his opinion of Hawke yet again as he falls into step beside them on their way out. Although he's confident he passed Hawke's test, he can't help but be unsettled by how easily he has fitted into place under Hawke's command -- after years on a leash, he never wanted to be considered that submissive again.

His doubts are somewhat lessened when Hawke holds the door open for them and dips into a teasing bow as they pass. Fenris' stomach tightens at the warm smile Hawke gives him as he goes and when he steps out into the sunlight, he reminds himself that, no matter how easy it may be to follow Hawke, it's only for one job.

However, that still seems like one job too many when Hawke slings an arm around his shoulders and says cheerfully, "So, about going undercover…"


	3. Chapter 3

"So we should probably talk."

Taking Fenris' lack of a response as a positive sign, Hawke clambers up the closest bale of hay and launches himself onto one of the rafters. His chest collides hard with the wood, knocking the wind out of him, and he lets out an undignified grunt as he swings his legs up to regain his balance.

A little way across the barn, Fenris is watching him like he's a particularly dopey mabari. Hawke decides it could be worse.

"I have to ask," Hawke says, making his way over the beams, "do you always pick the least accessible spot to hang out in or is my breath just that terrible?"

The hard set of Fenris' jaw softens in amusement and Hawke breathes into his own hand and takes a sniff. "Okay, in hindsight maybe ordering the Pork Extravaganza wasn't my best choice."

"I think the clue was in the name," Fenris says. 

Hawke chuckles as he settles on a rafter. When it comes to conversations with Fenris, he'll take mockery over silence every time. "What can I say, I'm an adventurer." 

He leans against the opposite pillar, stretching his legs out so that his toes almost brush Fenris'. "If we're ever in Denerim, remind me to take you to Barb's Bronto Buffet. You'll learn so much about yourself." He tilts his head in contemplation. "And about brontos, obviously."

Fenris looks faintly nauseated. "I'll take your word for it."

Folding his hands behind his head, Hawke looks at him properly. Fenris is tucked up on the rafter, one leg folded under the other, and Hawke is dismayed to find that he still looks unfairly attractive, especially for someone loitering in a barn and planning an assassination attempt. 

However, as appealing as Fenris is to look at, the nervous tapping of his fingers against the wooden rafter suggests that his attempt at solitude hasn't done much in the way of making him feel any better. 

"I'm guessing you didn't really come up here just to avoid my breath?" Hawke asks gently.

Fenris shakes his head. "I just needed some space."

"I understand," Hawke says. "And I understand that you probably don't want me up here pestering you, so I'm just going to apologise for that upfront."

Fenris doesn't even attempt a smile, let alone an actual reply, but Hawke pushes on regardless. "I know I'm asking a lot of you. Going undercover as a slave is rough, even without-" Fenris' gaze turns sharp and Hawke fumbles for a diplomatic end to that sentence. "-your history."

"I don't see why it's necessary. You already have the mages attending the party," Fenris says, gesturing down to the back of the barn where Anders and Merrill are deciding on appropriately evil headgear. (Hawke makes a note to veto Anders' bandanna.) "Why do you need a slave as well?"

"Because this is a party full of mages who like murdering people." Below them, Merrill cooes in delight at finding a sequined shawl and Hawke adds quickly, "Present company excluded, of course."

Fenris looks unconvinced but Hawke continues, "Corvinus has to suspect that some of his guests might turn on him. Anders and Merrill will kill him if they can but we need to work on the assumption that he'll have some anti-mage protections in place -- wards, spells, whatever it takes to keep him safe. That's why we need back-up options."

"So then use infiltration," Fenris says. "I've broken into more remote places before."

"Too risky," Hawke says firmly. "I've seen the plans of the estate -- we'd be lucky to even get close to him, let alone to make it out alive. Not to mention that I've seen what happens to the people Corvinus captures -- I'm not about to let you go running off on your own."

Fenris arches an eyebrow. "I didn't realise I was your prisoner."

"That wasn't what I meant," Hawke says with a sigh. "You know you can leave whenever you want. I just don't want to risk your life by sending you in there alone." He offers a smile. "Besides, you're much too handsome to be mutilated by a madman."

Fenris' eyebrows inch higher but his tone is less scathing when he says, "Perhaps someone should have informed Danarius."

The lyrium lining his fingers shimmers as he speaks, the glow blossoming under his skin, and Hawke watches the curl of Fenris' hands in fascination. "Is that who you served under in Tevinter? The one who gave you the markings?"

Fenris tips his head back to rest against the beam behind him. "I wonder whether he would be flattered or furious that you don't know his name. But yes," he says, "I was owned by Magister Danarius."

"What a dick."

Fenris' laugh seems to catch Fenris by surprise just as much as it does Hawke. Some of the tightness leaves his shoulders as he dangles one leg down from the beam and says with a shake of his head, "You speak your mind, I'll give you that."

"I try," Hawke agrees. "Which is all the more reason to trust me when I say I want to keep you out of the clutches of evil magisters."

Fenris sighs. "I take it the rest of you aren't going in as slaves."

"Not so much," Hawke says. "Varric's taking a position in the kitchen -- he's a surprisingly decent cook. We have a way in with the servers too and once we found out how scantily clad they'll be-"

"Let me guess," Fenris says, "Isabela?"

"Nope. Yours truly," Hawke says with a grin. "Although I did have to fight her for it. Luckily for me, she's terrible at darts. She's going in as one of Corvinus' guards."

"I could be a guard too?" Fenris offers.

"You're too recognisable," Hawke says. "Even if people think your markings are the Dalish blood things-"

"Vallaslin." 

"Right," he says. "Even with those, you're still noticeable, and that's assuming all those mages don't notice they're actually full of lyrium. The only way you'll be able to get in and move around freely is if Corvinus and everyone else thinks you're under control." 

He leans in to rest a hand on Fenris' knee as he says, "I know pretending to be a slave is not a good position to be in but this is our best chance, Fenris. You can get close enough to Corvinus to kill him and if there's any trouble, Merrill and Anders have a good excuse to protect you."

"Is there anything you haven't thought of?" Fenris mutters.

Hawke grins. "I'm just covering my bases. We can't afford for anything to go wrong tonight."

"Like your latest hire refusing to work?"

"'Hire' may be a stretch, what with me not paying you yet," Hawke says, sitting back against the post. "But honestly? I don't think we can do this without you."

"I can't-" Fenris cuts himself off, looking down at his white-lined hands as he says, "I understand your reasoning but being a slave again…"

"I won't let anyone hurt you," Hawke says. "I promise."

The look Fenris gives him is coldly cynical. "You think I haven't heard that before?" 

"Before?" Hawke frowns. "I thought you always worked alone?"

"Not always," Fenris says. 

He hesitates, tongue caught behind his teeth, but Hawke leans forward when he starts speaking again, "I was younger. More foolish. I was hired to assassinate a magister and I colluded with his guard-captain. I- We-" He swallows. "The captain was a good liar. We agreed he would pretend to capture me and take me to the magister so that I could finish my job."

Hawke winces. "I'm guessing that didn't pan out."

Fenris shakes his head. "As soon as he had me in shackles, he drugged me. It knocked me out -- when I woke up in the magister's chambers, I was too weak to move, let alone kill anyone."

"Fuck," Hawke says with sympathy. The thought of Fenris being betrayed and at a magister's mercy is not one he wants to dwell on, and he can feel his anger seeping into his voice when he says, "Please tell me you killed him."

"I killed them both," Fenris says. "Slowly. But I'm not stupid enough to make the same mistake twice."

"Fenris…" Hawke runs a hand through his hair. "I can't blame you for being suspicious. Maker knows I'd be running a mile if someone had done that to me but I swear, I'm not doing this to hurt you. This is too important to just be some elaborate trap."

"Is it?" Fenris snaps. "Whatever you're being paid, I'm sure Danarius would match it to have me hauled back to him in chains."

"It isn't about the money," Hawke says. Long buried memories unspool in the back of his mind, cold fingers and neat incisions, but he pushes them back down as he takes a breath.

Fenris is watching him, stony and suspicious, and the truth comes spilling out before Hawke can stop it. "Corvinus killed my mother." 

Fenris' lips part in surprise, his icy facade slipping for a moment, and Hawke fights to keep his voice level when he says, "I found her. I saw what he did to her. You don't need to trust me but please trust that I want him dead more than I want anything from you."

It's more blunt than he intended (and Hawke is far more sober than he ever wanted to be when having this conversation) but from the tiny nod Fenris gives in response, Hawke guesses he's a person who values bluntness. Fenris' eyes drop to his hands, fingers twisting together, and Hawke can see him struggling for the right response.

"I'm sorry," Fenris says eventually. "I didn't know."

"It's all right," Hawke says, and finds he means it. He may not be good at letting go of his anger but he's good at directing it at the right person. "It's not like it's something I go shouting from the rooftops. 'My mother was butchered by a mass murderer' isn't the best conversation starter."

Fenris' smile is weak but Hawke appreciates the effort. "How long?"

"Just over three years ago," Hawke says. Time has done nothing to ease the memories but he remains confident that replacing the smell of his mother's blood with the stench of Corvinus' will go a long way to making amends. 

"The others?" Fenris asks. "Do they know?"

"Yes," Hawke says simply. "Varric knew her, and Merrill and Anders know other people Corvinus slaughtered." He smiles in spite of himself. "As for Isabela, she's just a fan of sick fucks getting what's coming to them."

Fenris eyes him for a long moment, clearly weighing up whether or not Hawke's telling the truth, and Hawke can't help but be relieved when he finally yields. "All right."

"Is that 'all right' in the sense of you staying?" Hawke says hopefully. "Or just 'all right' in the sense of you not killing me for being a lying bastard?"

"Both," Fenris says, but there's a slight curve of a smile on his lips. "I don't trust your mages and I don't like the idea of pretending to be a slave, but I'll help you."

"Wait, really?" Hawke tries and fails to stop himself from beaming. "Thank y-"

"There need to be limits," Fenris cuts in. His tone doesn't allow any room for argument as he says, "I'll play the part of a slave but I don't want any restraints used on me. No leashes either."

Hawke can't reply fast enough. "Of course not."

"They don't hit me," Fenris says. His voice is hard but Hawke doesn't miss the way his hands are shaking as he rests them flat on his thighs. "They don't use magic on me. They don't strip me in public. They don't share me."

Far too late, Hawke begins to understand why Fenris was so opposed to the idea of going undercover. He isn't sure what he feels worse about -- that Fenris believes there's a genuine risk of those things happening or that, even with that risk, he's still offering to go ahead with this plan because Hawke guilted him into it.

"Agreed," Hawke says. "Fenris, I didn't-" 

He stops himself, figuring it's probably best not to admit how little he actually knows about slavery in Tevinter, especially after he just convinced a former Tevinter slave to relive it.

"Merrill and Anders won't do anything you don't want them to," he says instead. "I'll be right there the whole time. You just focus on Corvinus -- I'll make sure you're safe." He tries for a smile. "Besides, if you ever get nervous, you can always look at my very tight, spangly shorts." 

Fenris folds his arms across his chest but there's a tiny smile on his lips. "That helps with nerves?"

"I've been told I have very soothing thighs," Hawke says seriously. 

Fenris laughs and Hawke reaches out to pat him on the knee again as he dangles his legs over the side of the beam. "I should get dressed," he says. "And talk Anders out of wearing that terrible hat. Are you going to be okay?"

"I'm fine," Fenris says. "I'll be ready when you need me."

Hawke wants to probe further, to find out exactly who had Fenris leashed and stripped and shared and then kill them in a very grisly fashion, but other priorities loom. The familiar fantasy of vengeance pushes its way to the front of his mind and when he claps Fenris on the arm, he can't help but think of that same arm plunging into Corvinus' chest to pull out his rotted heart. 

"We'll leave in an hour," he says. "Me, Varric and Isabela will need to get in position before you three make your entrance."

Fenris just sits there, stoic and unreadable, and Hawke hesitates, perched on the edge of the rafter. 

"Thank you," he says quietly. "For trusting me."

Fenris blinks in surprise. 

Expecting a retort that Fenris doesn't trust him, that he's just doing this out of pity, Hawke is just as surprised when Fenris' only response is a nod of acknowledgement.


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Extra long chapter this time! Please note the noncon warnings/tags for this one in particular.

"I, uh- I'm Lord Valmer? And this is Lady Cynthia. My wife. We're the Valmers."

As far as commanding introductions go, Anders' attempt leaves much to be desired and Fenris rolls his eyes as the guards at the door diligently check their list. While he'll take an incompetent master over a cruel one any day, he didn't allow himself to be collared again just for their plan to fail at the first step.

In front of him, Merrill fidgets, toying with one of her earrings as she says, "I do hope we haven't got lost. You do have the invitation somewhere, don't you?"

Anders frowns. "Me? You-"

"Here, mistress," Fenris says before they can look any more suspicious than they already do.

He holds the invitation out for Merrill's attention and she looks back at him with a smile. "Thank you, Fenris."

"No need for that, ma'am," one of the guards says, nodding to his list. "I've found you right here. Welcome to Magister Corvinus' estate, Lord and Lady Valmer."

No comment is made on the fact that Merrill is an elf (or that Anders still hasn't learned how to shave correctly). After years of attending Tevinter gatherings at Danarius' side, Fenris is a little surprised at the lack of judgement but doesn't know whether to be reassured or concerned that Corvinus obviously has an eclectic guest list.

While Merrill and Anders are accepted without question, the second guard's gaze lingers on Fenris when he says, "I only have two guests listed."

"This isn't a guest," Anders says easily. His hand curls around Fenris' wrist, tugging him forward, and his tone becomes colder when he adds, "I wasn't aware we were forbidden from bringing personal possessions to dinner."

"My apologies, Lord Valmer," the first guard says. "My colleague here will conduct a quick search and we'll let you be on your way."

Anders gestures his approval and Fenris grits his teeth as the second guard shoves him bodily against the wall. Hawke's fumblings in the alley aside, it's been a while since he was manhandled this blatantly but he doesn't move a muscle as the guard's hands slide over his shoulders, roaming down over his ribs, hips and thighs with poorly disguised greed.

Fenris closes his eyes as rough fingers slip under his tunic in what is ostensibly a search for weapons but he opens them again at the sharp question from Merrill, "Do you really need to do that?"

Her impatience rolls right off the guard as he pulls Fenris around to face him. "Just one moment longer, Lady Valmer." He tugs sharply on Fenris' hair. "Mouth, slave."

This, too, is unpleasantly familiar but Fenris parts his lips obediently to let the guard's stubby, sticky fingers push inside. There have been plenty of stories over the years of magisters hiding weapons or poisons on their slaves but Danarius was usually intimidating enough that Fenris was spared the more intimate searches.

Unfortunately, Merrill and Anders are lacking in both clout and experience and so Fenris is left to choke when the guard's clumsy fingers brush the back of his throat. It's obvious he has nothing hidden under his tongue or in his cheeks but when the guard shows no sign of stopping, Fenris makes a half-hearted attempt at sucking on the man's fingers in an effort to end this faster.

It's far from his best work but it appears to do the job when the guard withdraws, wiping his spit-damp fingers clean on Fenris' shoulder as he says to Anders and Merrill, "All clear. Thank you for your cooperation."

Merrill huffs a sigh, hands on her hips, and Fenris falls back into position behind her.

"Please proceed," says the first guard, and Fenris doesn't miss the disapproving look he levels at his companion. "Just announce the password when you enter the entry chamber and you should get in safely. We apologise for the delay."

"Much obliged," Anders says with a heavy dose of sarcasm.

They sweep past the guards with their heads held high and Fenris settles easily into place at their heels. Hand in hand, Anders and Merrill ascend the steps to the entrance of the estate, both dressed in finery which wouldn't look out of place in Minrathous. The green and black silk of their outfits matches the cheap green tunic Fenris has been dressed in but fortunately the black collar buckled around his throat is too thin to be anything more than proprietary decoration.

(Merrill claims the outfit matches his eyes. Fenris loathes it on principle.)

The staircase leads to an open door and Merrill and Anders come to a halt as they enter the room. The shimmer of the magical wards glints off the tiles on the floor and Anders glances around with interest. "Well, this must be the entry chamber."

The door in front of them pulses with energy, blocked off by a purple barrier, and Fenris shivers at the pull of leashed power against his lyrium.

"Do we just speak or-"

Unable to deal with more incompetence, Fenris interrupts Merrill with a roll of his eyes. "Venenum!"

The barrier dissolves in front of them and Fenris breathes a sigh of relief. He remembers these from Tevinter -- Danarius always enjoyed concocting particularly grisly spells for uninvited guests -- and as they move onwards into the estate, he's just pleased to be keeping all his limbs.

"Lord and Lady Valmer!" a page announces as they step into the main hall.

It's an effort not to shift to a defensive stance when dozens of eyes move in their direction but Fenris keeps his posture subservient and his gaze lowered as they make their way into the room. He catches a couple of stunned whispers of _wolf_ and _Danarius_ but isn't too surprised at being recognised -- given the interests of the assembled guests, he'd expect them to have a passing awareness of perverse Tevinter experiments.

Still, no-one objects to their presence and Fenris risks a glance around the hall when the guests return to their conversations.

It's more lavish than the exterior would suggest, torches and tapestries lining the walls and intricate mosaics decorating the floor, but the thick scent of incense isn't enough to mask the hint of blood beneath. He'd guess there are at least forty people there so far and it doesn't take him long to spot at least three wearing the familiar gold and black robes of the magisterium.

For a moment he's terrified that Danarius will be among them, that Hawke's promises were all a lie, but he soon puts the idea out of his mind. He'd know the creeping ripple of Danarius' magic anywhere and while his skin crawls at the proximity of so many mages, his former master's power is thankfully absent.

"Hawke was right about protection," Merrill whispers to Anders. "Did you feel your mana drop when we came in?"

Anders nods, looking deeply uncomfortable and not at all like the confident mage he's masquerading as. "I don't think I'd be able to do more than light a torch like this. Shit." He runs a hand through his hair. "Let's hope the others managed to get their weapons in."

"Lady Valmer?"

Merrill spins at the address and Fenris lowers his head as two women approach, both smiling broadly.

"It is so good to finally meet you, dear!" one says, beaming. At Merrill's blank expression, she continues, "Oh, I'm so sorry, where are my manners? I'm Enchanter Alana from the Ostwick Circle, and this is Valerie, one of my dear friends. We've heard so much about you."

"Your work on mind manipulation is inspiring," Valerie says. "We talked about nothing else for weeks when we heard that you'd been able to break past the self-preservation instinct with no more than a few drops of blood." She leans in with a conspiratorial smirk. "You must tell me, did you really compel that man to cut his own arm off?"

"Oh, no," Merrill says. Valerie's smile falters but Merrill adds with surprising ease, "Just the skin."

The women laugh in delight, moving in closer, and Alana rests her hand on Merrill's shoulder as she says, "You should give us a demonstration the next time you're in Ostwick. It's such a pity we haven't managed to get together sooner."

"Well, you know how it is," Merrill says cheerfully. Her laugh is forced but Fenris is quietly impressed with her acting abilities when she adds, "It's just so hard to tear yourself away from your hobbies sometimes."

"I completely understand," Valerie says. "Alana almost had to drag me here tonight, didn't you, darling? Blood work can be so time consuming -- you sit down in the evening with a fresh subject and the sun is up before you know it."

"Oh, absolutely," Merrill says. "I'd forget to eat sometimes if it wasn't for my husband."

"Laurent," Anders says, shaking the women's hands in turn. "It's a pleasure to meet you both."

"Laurent…" Valerie repeats, her brow knitting together. "Why do I know that name?"

"I've dabbled a little in anatomy," Anders says, fitting his arm around Merrill's waist. "Nowhere near my wife's progress with mind manipulation, of course, but it keeps me busy."

Alana scoffs, smiling up at him. "Oh, don't be silly. I've seen sketches of your work on those two Fereldans -- it must be fascinating to get to experience working organs in so much detail."

Fenris presses his lips together. Hawke didn't tell him how the real Valmers died but he hopes it was painful.

If Anders shares his disgust, he doesn't show it when he says, surprisingly sincere. "Magic certainly has its advantages."

"It's so nice to meet like-minded people," Valerie says. "The Circles can be so uncivilised sometimes."

"All the templars I've met have been brutes who could barely string a sentence together," Anders says. "And yet the Chantry expects them to have a proper appreciation for all the wonderful, powerful possibilities of magic?"

"Exactly!" Alana sounds triumphant as she gestures towards Anders. "It's despicable, the lack of vision people have down here. If it weren't for my phylactery, I'd move to Tevinter tomorrow. At least there they have a proper respect for mages."

"Speaking of which," Anders says smoothly, "have you been introduced to our host yet? We've corresponded with him but we've been looking forward to meeting him in person tonight."

"Not yet," Valerie says with a regretful sigh. "Quentin is always so busy at these parties but I'm sure he'll make his way around eventually. He does so love picking people's brains about their work."

She glances over her shoulder and smiles. "Ah, I see the Viscount has got his teeth into him already. With any luck Quentin will free himself sometimes this decade."

Unable to contain his curiosity, Fenris follows her gaze across the room to where Corvinus is deep in conversation with a wisened Viscount. He's taller than he expected, solidly built despite the grey streaking his hair and beard, and Fenris purses his lips at the line of armour visible beneath the drapes of his robes.

His fingers glitter with rings -- for resistance, Fenris guesses, in case any of the guests manage to summon a passable spell -- and while he can't see the detail of the amulet around Corvinus' neck, he'd guess it's a lifeward to round out his defence.

As targets go, he's well-protected and as Fenris lowers his gaze back to the ground, he runs through potential approaches in his head. Varric won't have much luck from a distance and Merrill and Anders are all but crippled by the wards; their best approach is for Hawke, Isabela or himself to do a lot of damage very quickly.

Smiling a little at the thought of shoving his arm through Corvinus' chest -- after all, the lifeward can't restart his heart if it's in Fenris' hand -- Fenris misses the drift of the conversation until a hand settles on his head.

He starts at the contact, tensing up before he remembers where he is, and he cringes when Valerie tuts. "Jumpy little thing, isn't it?" She looks over to Merrill with a raised eyebrow. "Another one of your marvellous experiments?"

"Of sorts," Anders says. "He's a recent acquisition."

"I see." Valerie's fingers smell of blood when she grips his chin. "How's it taking to the compulsion?"

Anders' hand comes to rest on the back of Fenris' neck. The gesture is one of ownership but Fenris can't help the pathetic rush of relief at the implied protection.

"No compulsion for this one, I'm afraid," Anders says. "He's been trained using more… traditional methods."

"He's very obedient though," Merrill says. "Aren't you, Fenris?"

"Yes, mistress," Fenris says automatically and earns a quiet noise of approval from Alana.

"Be a good boy and fetch us some wine," Alana says before looking past him to Merrill. "You must tell me where you got him."

As much as Fenris wants to hear whatever story Merrill is going to spin, Anders' grip on his neck tightens as he nudges him in the direction of the drinks table. "Now, _slave_."

Fenris' face burns hot with embarrassment when he ducks away and he's grateful for the relative anonymity as he weaves his way through the guests to the drinks table.

Hawke is across the room, dressed in the barely-there uniform of the wait staff and applying his charm to a couple of elderly mages. Fenris is surprised to find that Hawke's thighs are actually as soothing as promised but he resists the urge to seek out further support as he presses on to find drinks.

He detours around a cluster of guards, giving a wide berth to the true magisters among the guests, and can't help but be grateful when he reaches the seclusion of the drinks table.

It's all too much, all too similar to the years spent on Danarius' leash being pawed at and talked over like a pet, and he takes a moment to rest his hands on the table, lowering his head and letting the dizziness pass as he remembers how to breathe freely. The collar is tight around his throat and he squeezes his eyes shut, focusing on Hawke's warm gaze and gentle hands to help him suppress the desire to flee.

His efforts aren't helped by a low whistle from behind him.

It's followed by a big hand settling on his hip and a male voice asking in a thick Orlesian accent, "Well, what do we have here?"

Nausea claws its way up Fenris' throat and he curls his hands into fists when the man's touch turns to an unmistakeable grope.

"It's always disappointing there aren't more elves at these events," the man continues, hand moving lower. "You'd think the Wildervale whorehouses could spare some for decoration at least." He tugs sharply on the back of Fenris' tunic. "Come on then, let me look at you."

Fenris can't do anything other than obey. He turns, keeping his hands at his sides, and stares at the wall as the man chuckles in approval, finger crooked under his chin. "Lovely."

Fenris wants to kill him. He wants to tear through the room like lightning, pulling the hearts from every depraved mage in his path and ripping the limbs from everyone who's laid their hands on him like he's no more than property.

"So," the man says, leaning in with a lecherous grin, "what do you say we go find a quiet room somewhere, hm?" He flicks at the point of his ear, smiling wider when Fenris flinches. "I can't imagine you have any more pressing duties."

It's a struggle not to choke on the fury burning inside him. He hates the collar Merrill tied around his throat; he hates the ease with which Anders calls him 'slave'; and most of all he hates himself for allowing Hawke to wrap him in rope disguised as reassurance and stake him out as prey.

It's too much to keep buried any longer and when he meets the man's eyes, he's surprised by how easily the answer comes to his lips. "No."

The man blinks in shock. "No? You dare-"

"I'm not a whore," Fenris snaps, "and I'm not your slave. Get your hands off me."

The man's hands drop to his side as his eyes narrow in anger. Cold fear settles in Fenris' stomach, put there through painful experience of the consequences of angering mages, but he holds his ground and doesn't break eye contact, even as the man raises his fist with a snarl. "Impudent knife-"

"General!"

A gauntleted hand closes around the man's wrist before he can land the punch and Fenris lets out a breath when two guards appear behind them.

"I think you've had enough to drink, General," one of the guards says and Fenris does a double-take when he recognises Isabela's voice beneath the helmet. "How about we find somewhere to sit you down for a while, huh?"

"I don't want to sit," the man -- apparently some kind of general -- mutters. He shakes free from Isabela's partner and glares at Fenris. "Damned Free Marches. At least down in Orlais they know what elves are good for."

Fenris raises his chin in defiance but says nothing as the other guard leads the man away. "I'm sure we can find some entertainment more to your taste, General. We've got some excellent couches, right this way…"

They disappear through a side door and Fenris slumps against the table with a shaky sigh. Isabela lingers at his side but he ignores her as he straightens up and loads the rest of the goblets of wine onto the tray.

"Hey," Isabela whispers, "are you all right?"

"Fine." He swallows. "Thank you."

Her face is hidden by her helmet but he can hear the smile in her voice when she says, "You could've taken him."

"I know," Fenris says honestly, "but Corvinus is more important." He glances over to where Anders and Merrill are now talking to a larger group of guests. "I need to go."

"Fenris..."

He doesn't look back as he slips into the crowd again, drinks in hand and subservient veneer back in place. He can still feel the phantom press of the general's fingers against his thigh but he pushes down the tangle of rage and shame when he presents the drinks to Merrill with a bow.

He's here for Corvinus, he reminds himself. Once Corvinus is dead and Hawke's mother is avenged, it would just be a fortunate coincidence if he happened to locate a wealthy benefactor who was willing to pay to have a certain Orlesian general horribly murdered.

It's a soothing thought but when Anders summons him with a click of his fingers, Fenris realises that it's a thought he could be dwelling on for a while.

 

:::

 

As far as parties go, Hawke has to admit that Corvinus' isn't the worst he's ever attended.

That dubious honour still goes to the party Anders coaxed him to six months ago -- the taste of orange liqueur still haunts him -- but as he sidles away from a pair of chattering mages, he decides that this one is a close second.

It's been easy to keep busy, weaving through the guests with trays of food in an attempt to overhear any useful conversations, but so far he's mostly been rewarded with details of atrocities the guests have committed or insights into the (largely inappropriate) things they'd like to do to him.

(He mostly blames the shorts for the latter.)

Despite Hawke's best efforts, Corvinus has remained frustratingly out of reach, flanked by guards at all times and laden with charms and wards. In a stolen moment with Isabela, he managed to convey that a quick, high-damage attack would be most effective but so far neither of them have been able to get near enough to sink their daggers into his back.

And then there's Fenris. As far as Hawke can tell, he's been playing his part a little too well -- it's unsettling to watch the blunt, ill-tempered assassin masquerade as a blankly obedient slave -- but since none of his ground rules around hitting or use of magic appear to have been breached, he can only assume Fenris is willing to continue.

From Hawke's limited contact with him, he can't tell whether it's the disguise or the lack of opportunity which has stopped Fenris making a move on Corvinus but as the man himself climbs some stairs at the head of the room, Hawke prays that one of them will get their chance soon.

"Honoured guests," Corvinus begins and hush falls over the room as the assembled crowd turns to listen, "I'm so grateful you could all attend tonight."

Settling in the shadows, Hawke watches Corvinus' protective charms glint as he strolls back and forth.

"This may sound trite," Corvinus says, "but I am so fortunate to have met you all. It's rare that the Maker blesses us with just one person who truly understands us, and so I consider myself blessed beyond belief to have found kindred spirits in so many of you."

Applause ripples through the hall and Hawke grits his teeth as Corvinus basks in the adoration. If he gets his way, Corvinus won't be around to receive any kind of blessings after tonight.

"And what a wonderful gathering we have," Corvinus continues. "I see friends who have travelled all across Thedas, coming from the heights of the Imperium and from the very edges of Ferelden. I see those living proudly in the Circles and the courts, and those who prefer the privacy of the shadows. I see men and women with a truly magnificent array of skills, and I see those with the dedication to delve deep into one area of magic and master all it has to offer."

He steeples his fingers, long robe flowing like water as he moves along the steps. "As many of you will know, I have struggled to find my place in the society into which I was born. I love my homeland deeply but there are only so many restraints, so many shackles of propriety than one can bear before the desire for freedom becomes too great."

Hawke raises his eyebrows in disbelief. A quick glance in Fenris' direction reveals that he is equally unimpressed by Corvinus' choice of metaphor and Hawke cracks his knuckles as quietly as possible while picturing pounding Corvinus' smug face into paste.

"And so I began travelling," he goes on. "I honed my skills, broadened my knowledge, and sampled some of the very finest delights that Thedas has to offer."

The memory of his mother's wide, lifeless eyes rises unbidden and Hawke snaps the arm off a candlestick in his efforts to keep himself under control. Even if it's the last thing he does, he's going to gut Corvinus like a fish and watch with pleasure as he dies.

"I can only recommend such experiments to you all," Corvinus says, apparently unaware that he's digging his own grave. "The satisfaction to be found in suffering and in sacrifice is like nothing else I've experienced. I truly believe that is how we can access the most primal and the most fascinating parts of our magic."

Pleased murmurs move through the crowd. Hawke almost wants to offer a rebuttal, a promise that if any of them take up Corvinus' suggestion, they'll be next to meet a bloody end, but he resists.

With any luck, Corvinus' mutilated corpse will be enough of a deterrent.

"But that is an indulgence best left for another time," Corvinus finishes with a smile. "For now, please enjoy the hospitality -- I look forward to getting to know you all better this evening."

The guests applaud, the noise levels rising as they return to their conversations with enthusiasm, and Hawke ducks further behind the pillar as he watches Corvinus descend the stairs again. He's easy to follow as he moves through the crowd, dressed in deep blue and silver against the gaudy clutter of guests, and Hawke finds himself wondering how noticeable bloodstains would be on that fabric.

His hand goes to the hilt of his dagger as he readies himself to find out but he pauses when he catches a movement at the corner of his eye.

Turning, he sees Fenris slipping through the guests, another full tray of wine held aloft as he goes. However, rather than returning to Anders and Merrill, his eyes are locked on Corvinus and Hawke spots the faint glow of the lyrium as Fenris strides forward towards his target, a grim expression on his face.

Hawke almost feels foolish for the thrill that runs through him at the sight but he can do nothing to dampen his anticipation as Fenris gets closer and closer. As the only one with experience of actually taking out magisters, Fenris has the best chance of success and Hawke holds his breath as Fenris moves within striking distance of Corvinus.

His breath comes out again in a rush when a bark of laughter from across the room makes him jump. A black-robed mage laughs sharply, clapping his companion on the arm, and Hawke scowls at him before looking back to Fenris.

He's just in time to see Fenris come to an abrupt halt in the middle of the hall.

The look of determination slips from his face, the glow of the lyrium dying in an instant, and Hawke can't do anything but watch in horror as the tray of wine goes crashing to the floor.

The whole room quietens, mages peering over each other's shoulder to find the source of the commotion. Corvinus himself eyes the mess with suspicion but Fenris barely seems aware of the scrutiny as he stares at something in the crowd.

Whispers of _slave_ and _knife-ear_ and _worthless_ echo through the guests but they're soon interrupted by a bustle of movement to Hawke's left as Anders pushes his way through the partygoers.

Hawke catches the look of panic Anders throws him as he rushes to cover Fenris' mistake. He isn't sure what he's expecting Anders to do -- improvisation was never his strength -- but he's a little impressed by how intimidating Anders sounds when he says with feigned anger, "I suppose it was too much to ask that you don't disgrace me in front of our host."

Fenris blinks at that, easing out of his stupor as he meets Anders' eyes. "I-"

He doesn't get the rest of the sentence out before Anders smacks him hard across the face.

Hawke's mouth drops open in shock but the reaction from the guests is one of approval when the violence of the blow is enough to knock Fenris to the ground.

Against all of Hawke's expectations, there's no hint of defiance in Fenris' posture when he lands hard on the stone floor. The goblets roll away, dented but not broken by the fall, but wine soaks Fenris' tunic as Anders towers over him. "You dare to look your master in the face?"

Rationally, Hawke can't blame Anders for covering as best he can -- at this point it would look more suspicious if Lord Valmer _didn't_ beat his slave -- but that doesn't make him feel any better about seeing Fenris cowering at Anders' feet.

"I apologise on behalf of my slave," Anders says, and his gaze finds Corvinus as he bows his head in contrition. "We clearly need to revisit some elements of his training." He glares down at Fenris. "On your knees, slave."

Fenris scrambles to obey, splashing his clothes with more wine, and when he rests his hands flat on his thighs, Hawke could swear he's shaking.

"Apologise for your mess," Anders orders.

Hawke's chest tightens in sympathy when Fenris stammers, "I- I'm sorry, master. I'm sorry, Magister Corvinus."

For a moment, Corvinus appears unconvinced but his lips curve in a pleased smile when Anders steps forward and tosses the dregs of his wine in Fenris' face.

Fenris flinches as if slapped. Wine drips from his hair, trickling down his cheeks as his face heats with shame, but he stays on his knees when Corvinus moves to stand beside Anders.

"It's quite all right," Corvinus says easily. "I'm sure everyone has dealt with clumsy slaves at one time or another."

"True," Anders says, "but I thought we'd trained that out of him by now. Nonetheless I apologise for the damage caused."

Corvinus waves it away, resting a hand on Anders' shoulder as he does. "Nothing that a good clean won't fix." He glances down at Fenris with a sneer. "I daresay that applies to your slave too."

"Of course," Anders says. His tone sharpens when he addresses Fenris, "Go clean yourself up, slave. I don't want to see you again until you're presentable."

While Hawke recognises the underlying meaning of 'take some time out and don't come back until you're all right', the message seems to go over Fenris' head as he nods obediently. "Yes, master."

Mollified, the guests return to their discussions as Fenris hurries away from Anders and Corvinus. His tunic is soaked, red trails of wine running down his bare arms, and as he disappears into the shadows, Hawke can't ignore the thrum of worry in his chest.

"You must tell me where you got him," Corvinus says, steering Anders away from the spilled wine. "Those markings are so intriguing…"

Their conversation is drowned out by the noise of the other guests and Hawke hesitates, torn between following Corvinus or going after Fenris.

It doesn't take long to convince himself that Fenris is the more sensible option -- if he's going to murder a magister, it would be nice to have an experienced magister-killer at his side -- and he steels himself before heading back into the crowd.

Mingling is a lot less fun when he has pressing concerns about a teammate's well-being and so Hawke keeps both the food delivery and the half-hearted flirtation to a minimum as he makes his way through the hall. After dodging a couple of wandering hands and inadvertently throwing a canapé at a guest, he finally makes it to the other side where he's promptly dragged behind a pillar by a guard.

"Hey-"

The guard clamps her hand over his mouth and Hawke blinks when he sees that it's Isabela.

"Oh, thank fuck."

His words are muffled by her gauntlet but Isabela seems to get the message anyway when she steps back and whispers, "What in the flames just happened?"

Hawke shakes his head. "I don't know. I think something's wrong with Fenris."

"It's not Fenris I have a problem with," she says. "I just don't remember the part of the plan where Anders actually turned evil. Did I miss a meeting?"

"He's not evil," Hawke says, running a hand through his hair. "Maybe it wasn't his best decision ever but he was under pressure. He had to think fast."

"You have an interesting definition of 'thinking'," she mutters before glancing at something over Hawke's shoulder. "One of us should keep an eye on him. You know, in case he actually decides to jump ship."

"There is no jumping," Hawke says firmly. "Also no ships. Everyone is happy and not evil and on very dry land."

Isabela raises an eyebrow and he sighs. "Look, you just stay with Anders and Corvinus. I'll find Fenris and come up with a plan of attack." He looks around. "You didn't see which way he went, did you?"

"That way, maybe?" Isabela says, gesturing towards the north end of the hall.

The passageways surrounding the hall are purposefully dark, to avoid the serving staff distracting the guests, but the lack of light proves a hindrance when Hawke is unable to spot any glowing elves.

"Thanks," he says, patting Isabela on the shoulder. "I'll be right back."

"Oh, sure," Isabela grumbles. "Leave me to babysit the two shady mages while you go flirt with the elf. That's fair."

"I'm not flirting!" Before she can raise any specific examples of him flirting with Fenris, he adds, "Also Anders isn't shady."

Isabela's unconvinced noise is muffled somewhat by her helmet and Hawke takes off in the opposite direction before they can argue further.

As he moves along the outer wall of the chamber, it's hard to escape the feeling that the job is falling apart. He and Isabela haven't exactly been subtle so far; Anders is too close to Corvinus for comfort, especially with his magic restricted; and Fenris seems to be having a worse night than the rest of them combined.

The heart-pounding rush of panic drowns out the cold, familiar ache for revenge, and as he moves between the long shadows of the pillars, Hawke realises he lied to Fenris earlier.

While in the long term he may still want Corvinus dead more than he wants anything from Fenris, the short term is a different story. Hawke is surprised to discover that, as long as it results in Fenris being safe and well for the foreseeable future, he may actually be willing to let Corvinus live to see one more sunrise.

(As discoveries go, it's not his favourite.)

His search around the pillars yields no results but Hawke slows when he sees a faint glow against the far wall. Keeping out of sight, he inches closer but frowns when he finally sees Fenris backed against the wall. His markings are flickering in nervous bursts but the light is mostly blocked by the solid body of the man standing in front of him.

He's dressed all in black, with elaborate gold embroidery tracing the edges of his robes, and as Hawke gets nearer, he recognises him as the mage who'd been laughing earlier.

He's too far away to catch what the man is saying to Fenris but from the way Fenris recoils from his touch, Hawke guesses it's nothing good. He sees the dark curve of the man's smile as he whispers something in Fenris' ear, one hand planted against the wall beside his head and one at his waist to keep him pinned in place, and Fenris' lyrium sparks in terror as he looks up at the mage.

Trying to work out the best way to intervene, Hawke soon sets subtlety aside when the man grabs Fenris by the throat.

Fenris clutches at his arm, struggling to free himself, and Hawke sets off at a run when the man's fingers only dig in harder.

The cruel angles of the man's face are lit blue as he leans in, and Hawke's eyes widen in outrage when the man slowly and deliberately licks a drop of wine from Fenris' cheek.

"Hey!" Hawke yells but the noise of his shout is nothing compared to the reaction from Fenris.

His markings ignite before Hawke can reach him, flaring brighter than Hawke has ever seen them. The light is blinding, searing away the shadows and glowing through the hall like sunlight, and Hawke raises a hand to shield his eyes.

Excited whispers spread through the hall as the guests crane their necks to investigate and the man takes a step back, stunned, as Fenris draws himself to his full height.

"What the-"

He doesn't get to finish before Fenris plunges both hands into his chest.

There's a scream from the crowd but otherwise the room falls deathly quiet when the man bellows in pain, mouth opening and closing like a fish on the hook as he stares down at his chest.

"I- How-"

Blood drips from his lips as he fixes Fenris with a furious stare. "Take your hands off me, slave!"

It's the wrong thing to say.

Any hope Hawke has of maintaining their cover is all but demolished when Fenris narrows his eyes. The desire to kill Corvinus, to avenge his mother, is too great for Hawke to let it end like this and he steps forward as he makes a last, desperate attempt.

"Fenris, no! Don't-"

Fenris doesn't even look at him as he tears the man's lungs from his chest.


	5. Chapter 5

The wet slap of the man's lungs dropping to the ground is uncomfortably loud in the hushed hall.

Too stunned to come up with a viable plan, Hawke can only watch as Fenris looks up from the body on the floor, eyes moving between the shocked guests and his bloodstained hands as if only just remembering where he is.

There's a shuffle of movement in the crowd and Hawke inches back into the shadows as Anders shoves his way through.

To Anders' credit, he manages to sound at least marginally authoritative as he picks his way over the stray organs. "Slave, you- How dare you attack someone without permission?"

He says it with stern disapproval, as if Fenris broke a plate rather than killed a man, and Hawke reaches for his blades as he realises just how out their depth they are.

Fenris' answering stare is flat and cold, all pretence of slavery falling away, but Anders doesn't seem to notice as he pulls his arm back in warning, clearly hoping for some kind of feigned contrition from Fenris. "I- You'll have to be punished for this."

Fenris' only response is to slam his fist into Anders' face.

The reaction from the room is almost as loud as Anders' pained yell. Shouts of "Seize him!" and "Kill the slave!" rise up from the crowd as Anders staggers back, barely catching himself on a pillar when he groans, "Maker's balls…"

His hand is pressed to his nose and Hawke winces in sympathy when he sees the blood running between Anders' fingers.

Apparently unfazed by Anders or the outraged crowd, Fenris' markings flare as he scans the guests. His eyes land on Corvinus and he launches himself forward before Hawke can stop him. "Fenris, no!"

He's a blur against the panicking guests, lit head to toe by the glow of his lyrium, but even that isn't enough to let him reach his target before Corvinus bellows, "Guards!"

Given the all-too-frequent outcome of his plans, Hawke is accustomed to moderate mayhem but as screams and shouts rise up around him, he decides that this is a brand new level of chaos.

The guards intercept Fenris before he can make it to Corvinus, blocking his path with swords and shields, but he ploughs through them without a moment's hesitation. Blood paints the mosaic tiles, splattering across walls and pillars as Fenris tears out the throat of one guard and kicks another hard in the gut before rolling to avoid the arc of a mace.

More guards pour into the hall, swords bared as they join the fray, and Hawke dispatches a couple while Isabela turns on her temporary colleagues before they can drive their blades into Fenris' back.

Around them the guests are shrieking, weak spells slipping from their palms as they dash to the exit or huddle for safety behind the pillars. A few stand their ground, ones with sufficient brawn to survive with limited magic, and Varric emerges from the kitchens with a crossbow in hand before one of the mages can bring an ornamental bust down on Merrill's head.

Still bleeding, Anders manages to smash a guard's head into the wall hard enough to knock him out but Hawke catches his arm before he can plunge further into the fight. "We need to get out!"

"What?" Blood smears on Anders' cheek as he wipes his broken nose. "Hawke, no! What about Corvinus?"

A guard charges with a roar and Hawke slides a dagger into his ribs with ease. "We'll never get to him. Not now." He glances over to where Fenris and Isabela are struggling to hold their own against the guards blocking Corvinus' escape route. "He's already gone."

"We can-"

"No," Hawke snaps. It comes out harsher than he intended but he presses on. "We came to kill Corvinus and we failed. I'm not throwing our lives away for nothing."

Anders opens his mouth to argue but seems to reconsider in the face of Hawke's very convincing argument. "Fine." He lands a sharp kick to a mage's knee, sending her sprawling to the floor. "Plan?"

"Run?" Hawke offers. (The very convincing argument was about the limit of his current thinking.) "Get Merrill and get out. We'll regroup back at the Hanged Man."

"Kirkwall? We're not staying close? Why-"

Hawke purses his lips and Anders sighs. "All right, Kirkwall, got it." He claps Hawke on the shoulder, wiping away another stream of blood from his nose. "Be careful. That whole 'throwing our lives away' speech counts for you as well."

The meaning is clear -- don't put himself in danger for Fenris -- and Hawke musters a weak smile. "I don't think that really counted as a speech. It was a brief encouragement at best."

Anders raises an eyebrow and Hawke relents, "I'll be careful."

"You better," Anders mutters and sets off at a run over to where Merrill is busy hurling crockery at some unfortunate guards.

Across the hall, Varric whistles in his direction, nodding towards the door, and Hawke raises a hand in acknowledgement before pointing towards Fenris and Isabela.

With surprising dexterity, Varric darts through the melee to grab Isabela's belt. She flails, stabbing her blade into a mage's thigh as she does so, but reluctantly lets Varric shepherd her towards the exit, taking out as many attackers as she can on the way.

And then they're down to two.

Hawke is almost relieved that Corvinus is no longer at the party-turned-battlefield when he slips into stealth and darts over to the far end of the room. He's just in time to save Fenris from losing a couple of fingers to a stray dagger and he slits the guard's throat in an instant before landing a kick which sends another staggering back into her companion.

Fenris whirls around at the noise, fist raised and glowing, and Hawke can only thank the Maker for quick reflexes as he catches Fenris' arm before his knuckles collide with his face. "It's just me."

Fenris blinks up at him in confusion. He's soaked with blood, most of which appears to belong to other people, but there are cuts on his thigh and along his ribs where the sheer number of guards appears to have done the trick. "Hawke?"

"We're leaving," Hawke says, elbowing an already dazed guard in the face. "Now."

"No," Fenris says, pulling free of Hawke to dispatch a mage. "Corvinus is still here. I can get to him."

"And what, bleed to death all over his favourite carpet? Yeah, that's a great plan." A guard lands a punch to Hawke's ribs and he stumbles before slashing at him with both blades. "We need to go!"

Fenris hesitates, blood running down over the bruise on his cheek, but Hawke lets out a relieved breath when he gives a tiny nod.

"Thank you," Hawke says, sweeping a guard's legs out from under him and straightening up as Fenris snaps another's neck. "All right, just run for the doors on three. Watch out for glyphs. One…"

"I'm sorry."

Hawke blinks, immediately forgetting the next two numbers. "What?"

Fenris ducks the swipe of a sword and carefully avoids Hawke's gaze. "For Corvinus. I… That mage-"

There's an explanation there, one that Hawke really, really needs to hear, but it stays locked away as Fenris gives a helpless little shrug. "I'm sorry, Hawke."

"Understood."

It's about all the response Hawke can manage when the sting of losing his revenge is still painfully sharp but it seems to be enough for Fenris.

He dives to Hawke's right to tackle a burly mage, pulling a sword off a nearby guard and driving it home, and Hawke shakes off the unwelcome guilt as he finishes his countdown at speed.

"…two, three, go!"

They take off at a sprint, leaving confused guards in their wake. Most of the mages seem to have learned not to get in their way but Hawke mows one down as he runs for the door before being pulled out of the way of a glyph by Fenris.

The cool night air is a welcome change and as they break from the estate to begin the long run back to Kirkwall, Hawke really hopes that Fenris' eventual explanation is a good one.

 

:::

 

The arguments start as soon as the first of them make it back to Kirkwall. While the safe room is secure, it's also relatively soundproof which Hawke is grateful for when he finds himself objecting loudly to Varric's latest line of attack.

"Fenris was fine with Barnaby!"

"That's because he was interrogating Barnaby, not pretending to be his slave," Varric says. "I told you we should have at least found a magister for him to practice not killing."

"He didn't try to kill me?" Merrill offers. "Or Anders, and we're both mages."

"Speak for yourself." Anders pinches the bridge of his newly-healed nose. "I'm reserving judgement on whether he was actually trying to shove his fist through my skull."

Isabela shrugs. "Guess that's what happens to jackasses who beat their slaves."

"It's not like I wanted to hit him!"

She arches an eyebrow. "Oh, what, you just couldn't resist? Was he just _begging_ to be hit?"

"Come on, Rivaini," Varric says. "You know it wasn't like that. It would've looked worse if he hadn't hit him."

"Do you think that's why he snapped?" Merrill asks. "I mean, no-one was being nice to him but did Anders drive him over the edge?"

Hawke shakes his head. "No, he was rattled before that. Something made him drop that tray."

"Maker, I need a drink," Varric says with a sigh. "Remind me again why we thought taking a skittish, mage-hating elf into a room full of blood mages was a good plan?"

"Because you wanted me to help you kill a magister."

Varric whips around at the sound of Fenris' voice and Hawke peers over Merrill's head to see Fenris standing by the door. His tunic is stained with blood and wine in equal measure but some of Hawke's frustration cools when he sees how Fenris is holding himself to avoid aggravating his injuries. "Fenris-"

"But when it came down to it, you called it off," Fenris continues, eyes fixed on Hawke. "Why bring me there if you didn't want me to do my job?"

"Fenris, you wouldn't have got through," Merrill says. "None of us would. Hawke made the right choice in retreating."

"Speaking of," Varric says, "you want to tell us what happened in there, elf? Hawke said you got spooked."

Fenris folds his arms. "It was nothing."

"You tore a man's lungs out in the middle of a party," Isabela points out. "I don't know what kind of parties you usually go to but that doesn't seem like nothing to me."

Fenris' jaw tightens. He's silent for a moment, long enough that Hawke wonders if he'll just refuse to answer, but Fenris' gaze lands on Hawke when he says quietly, "He was a magister."

"A magister?" Hawke pushes himself up from his seat. "Which one? Why did you kill him?"

"It's of no consequence," Fenris says. "He deserved to die. Let it be."

"Gee, that clears it right up," Varric mutters under his breath and Hawke bites his lip to keep from humming in agreement.

It's left to Anders to step forward when he says, incredulous, "It's of no consequence? We've been waiting years for the chance to take out Corvinus and you won't even give us a reason for why you threw that away? He killed my friend, Merrill's kin, Hawke's _mother_ -"

"I know," Fenris interrupts. "Believe me, I would have killed him for it if I could."

"So what went wrong?" Anders says. "Are you really that much of a liability that you'd just kill the first magister you see?"

Fenris' eyes narrow. He looks to Hawke, seeking support, but anger and exhaustion hold Hawke still. Corvinus' speech echoes in his ears, all that smug satisfaction arising from years of killing with impunity, and Hawke's chest aches at the knowledge that, yet again, there's nothing he can do to stop him.

Disappointment flickers across Fenris' face but his expression is icy when he looks back at Anders. "You know nothing about me, mage."

"Don't I?" Anders takes another step forward. "I know you just put your own whims above the safety of everyone else here. If this magister spent his time slaughtering kittens, we could have helped you kill him after we'd taken out Corvinus. But no, apparently a little self-control was too much to ask."

"He deserved it!"

"Half the people in that room deserved it!" Anders says. "But we were there for Corvinus. Maker, we would've _had_ Corvinus if you hadn't leaped at the nearest magister like some wild dog!"

Fenris' hands curl into fists as he pushes himself away from the wall. "He attacked me!"

"So you couldn't resist killing him?" Anders asks angrily. "You could've come to me or Merrill for help; you could've knocked him out and claimed self-defence -- instead you picked murder over protection."

"Protection?" Fenris' laugh is sharp and cynical. "How exactly were you going to protect me, mage? Did you plan to beat me unconscious so I couldn't disgrace you further? Maybe break my jaw so I couldn't talk back?"

Anders' cheeks colour in shame but he doesn't back down. "I panicked! I had no idea what to do when a slave makes a mistake -- I'm not a damn magister."

"No? You certainly did a good impression of one," Fenris says with a sneer. "The wine in the face was a nice touch. Very degrading."

"Guess I learned something from the templars after all," Anders says sarcastically. "I'm sure the Knight-Commander will be so proud."

"Corvinus certainly seemed proud enough," he says. "Is that why you're so angry I killed Galbus? One less magister for you to learn from?"

It's a slip and Anders seizes upon it before Hawke can intervene.

"Galbus? So the mystery magister does have a name?"

Fenris grits his teeth, nearly toe to toe with Anders as he draws himself up to his full height. "It's not your business, mage."

"I don't know," Anders counters, "I think nearly getting us all killed makes it our business, don't you?"

That one lands. Fenris hesitates, looking from Isabela to Varric to Merrill before shaking his head. "I- I didn't mean to put you in danger."

"Oh, that's great," Anders says. "You didn't mean to! Problem solved!"

"Anders," Hawke cuts in.

He puts a hand on his arm but Anders just shakes him off and rounds on Fenris.

"You're a loose cannon," he says. "We never should've brought you in on this."

"Anders-"

"I never asked you to," Fenris snaps. "I told you I work alone!"

"And I see why!" Anders says coldly. "Fewer people for you to get killed!"

"Anders!"

Grabbing his arm, Hawke hauls him back and puts himself between Anders and Fenris as he says, "That's enough! Both of you-"

The door creaks behind him and Hawke looks back in time to see it slam shut behind a retreating Fenris. "Fuck."

Anders pulls away, straightening his robes, and Hawke runs a hand through his hair with a sigh. In retrospect, gathering a group of tense, exhausted people together in a confined space was possibly not his best idea.

"I'm sorry," Anders says quietly.

He looks dead on his feet, fuelled by anger and grief, and Hawke's pretty sure he's in no better shape. "I just- We've been after Corvinus for so long, and we lost him because of one stupid-"

"I know," Hawke says. He hurts all over, scraped raw inside and out, and it's only made worse by dwelling on what they've lost. "I know."

"I know he's had it rough," Anders says, leaning against the table, "but I don't cut down every templar I see. Merrill doesn't turn on every human who passes her on the street. Isabela doesn't-" He pauses and looks over to where Isabela is half-asleep on a couch. "Have you killed every one of your mutineers on sight?"

"Not Beatrice," Isabela says without opening her eyes. "We had a lovely weekend in Denerim first."

"See?" Anders says, vindicated. "Even Isabela doesn't-"

"I know," Hawke says again, more firmly. "Anders, I appreciate the support but I'm too tired to think about any of this right now. Fenris might have had his reasons-"

Varric somehow manages to sound skeptical while clearing his throat.

"Or he might not," Hawke admits. "Either way, it's a problem for tomorrow. Go home, all of you. Get patched up and get some sleep."

Merrill frowns. "What about Corvinus?"

"Corvinus will still be there tomorrow," Hawke says. Even after three years, that thought isn't any more palatable. "We can't do anything more now."

Isabela makes a sleepy noise of agreement as she rolls herself off the couch and onto her feet. Her arm settles around Anders' shoulders, her other hand finding the small of Merrill's back as she says with a yawn, "Come on, Lord and Lady Evil Mage. Let's get you home."

They take off up the stairs together, debating half-heartedly about Merrill's jewellery choices, and Varric pats Hawke on the arm as he passes. "You all right?"

Hawke stretches. It hurts. "Never better."

"You're a terrible liar," Varric says, locking the door behind them as they head up to the street. "Look, I know that you're probably going after the elf tomorrow-"

"Me?" Hawke feigns offense. "Never."

"Still terrible," Varric points out. "I'm just saying, maybe you shouldn't jump in feet first this time."

"I don't think it's possible to jump into an elf."

"Hilarious." Varric rolls his eyes but his voice softens when he says, "Not everyone's problems have to be yours, you know. You've got plenty of your own."

Hawke thinks of his mother's cold, broken hands when he nods. "I know. I just-" He stops, fumbling for the right words. "I'm not pleased about what happened but the look on his face when that magister cornered him…" He sighs. "He deserves to have someone hear him out if he wants it."

"Fair enough." Varric shakes his head as he glances back at Hawke. "You know, it's going to ruin our reputation if people ever find out what a soft touch you are."

Hawke grins and Varric shakes his head. "I'm serious. I do all this work building a respectable criminal empire and then you come along, pat a few elves, and leave our reputation in tatters."

"You love me," Hawke says.

Varric lets out a long-suffering sigh. "Intermittently."


	6. Chapter 6

When he clambers up the last steps to the top of the Chantry tower, Hawke can't help but be relieved when he sees a pair of lyrium-streaked feet dangling down from a stone archway. "Thank the damn Maker."

Fenris jumps at the sound of his voice. He peers down but seems less than thrilled to see him when he says, tone flat, "Hawke."

"The one and only," Hawke says with a doff of his imaginary cap. 

Fenris makes no attempt to climb down from his perch. "How did you find me?"

Hawke grins. "My astonishing intuition?"

Fenris eyes him, unsmiling, and Hawke yields. "All right, I climbed a lot of buildings." He stretches his leg, shaking out the last of the cramp. He's definitely going to hurt tomorrow. "Any particular reason you hang out up here?"

"It's quiet," Fenris says pointedly.

Hawke thinks about taking the hint but soon decides against it. Standing on a broken table, he pulls himself up onto the stone sill and follows Fenris' gaze over the city. The sun is setting, the sky fading to a sleepy blue and candles flickering in the Hightown windows as he tries to spot his house. 

"So," he says to fill the silence, "what are your thoughts on sandwiches?"

Fenris stares at him and Hawke tries for a smile as he rummages in his pack. "I have ham or cheese, take your pick. I mean, I can't in good conscience recommend the cheese -- I think Anders found it in a tunnel somewhere -- but it's up to you."

It's been a day since the argument but Fenris still tenses a little at the mention of Anders. He doesn't comment on it though, instead focusing his attention back on the sprawl of Kirkwall when he says, "I'm not hungry."

"You sure? I know elves aren't exactly portly but you seem slimmer than most." He pats his own stomach. "Besides, you'd be saving me from myself."

That gets the tiniest smirk out of Fenris. His lips narrow a moment later, as if he's cross at himself for showing any kind of emotion, but Hawke lets it go as he sets the ham sandwich on the stone next to Fenris without further comment. 

"So how are you doing?" he asks. "I know Anders isn't your favourite person right now but I can get him to take a look at those wounds if you want. He's a great healer."

Fenris' hand goes to the cut on his thigh, now hidden away beneath his clothes. "I don't need the mage's help."

"How about the dashing rogue's help?" Hawke offers. "I can take a shot at stitches if you don't want magic."

"I'm fine," Fenris says. "I can look after myself."

It's like bashing his head against a brick wall and Hawke sighs. "I know. I'm not disputing that. I just thought you might want some support." He holds up his hands. "Entirely optional, I promise."

Fenris finally looks over at him, and Hawke tries to keep his expression neutral when he catches sight of the dark circles under Fenris' eyes and the bruise on his cheek. 

"What are you doing here, Hawke?" Fenris sounds exhausted but his gaze is cold when he meets Hawke's eyes. "You made it clear last night -- I know you don't want me working with you anymore."

"Hey," Hawke says in protest, "for what it's worth, Anders wasn't speaking for all of us."

"Just most of you?"

Hawke hesitates a moment too long with his response and Fenris' gaze drops to his lap as he says, "I understand. The mage was right; I put all of you in danger. I'm better off on my own."

"Maybe you are," Hawke admits. Fenris doesn't look up, clearly bracing for rejection, and Hawke keeps his tone level when he says, "But I don't think you would've reacted like you did without good reason."

Fenris still won't look at him. "He was a magister. What other reason did I need?"

"He wasn't the only magister there," Hawke points out. "Corvinus aside, I saw at least two more men wearing similar robes. I'm guessing they were magisters too?"

"Gold and black are the colours of the magisterium," Fenris says, neatly avoiding a direct answer. "Some choose to wear them when travelling outside the Imperium as a reminder of their status."

"So I'll take that as a yes," Hawke says. "Which means there were two magisters there you didn't kill."

Fenris' jaw tightens and Hawke resists the urge to reach across and rest a hand on his shoulder when he says quietly, "Look, I don't need all the sordid details-"

Fenris flinches at that. 

The word choice was deliberate but as Fenris curls in on himself, Hawke can't help but feel guilty for getting an answer out of him so easily. 

"I don't need to know everything," he says again, softer. "Whatever happened between you and the magister, it's your business. I just want to make sure it's not going to happen again while we're working together."

Fenris' head snaps up in surprise. "Working together?"

"Only if you want to," Hawke says sincerely. "If what happened at the party was too much, I'm not going to force you to stay." He shrugs. "Not that I could force you to do anything but you get the idea. Everything I said before still stands -- we could use your skills, Fenris."

Fenris frowns. "What about the others?"

"Anders and Varric might take a bit of convincing," Hawke admits, "but if there's one thing I'm good at, it's persuasion. And cartwheels."

Fenris' lips curve in a smile before he gets himself back under control again. "Cartwheels?"

"It's an underrated talent," Hawke says with a grin. 

He leans back against the side of the archway and watches for Fenris' response when he admits, "I like you. You're a good fighter and an even better assassin, and I enjoy working with you. If you want to stay and help us take out Corvinus, I'd be more than willing to talk Anders and Varric around." 

His smile fades as his tone becomes firmer. "But before I do that, I need to know that whatever happened with that magister was a one-off."

Fenris swallows, looking down at his hands, and Hawke finds himself almost pleading when he says, "I don't need details of who he was or why you did what you did. I just need to know it won't happen again."

Fenris' voice is barely above a whisper. "I don't know."

"You don't know if you're going to snap and slaughter someone again?" He runs a hand through his hair and tries and fails to summon a smile. "Honestly, that's not the reassurance I was hoping for."

"I know," Fenris says quietly. "I'm sorry. I didn't plan on killing anyone except Corvinus but then I heard Galbus' laugh and I…"

"That's what made you drop the tray," Hawke says, leaning in. He remembers the sharp laughter rising above the crowd, the pallor of Fenris' face as he stopped dead in the middle of the party. "What happened? Did you know him?"

A tremor runs through Fenris' hands at the question. He tucks them between his legs, turning fully to face Hawke as he asks, "What do you know about me?"

"In general?" Hawke says. "You like apples, don't like mages, and you hide out in high places when you're unsettled."

"I meant my past," Fenris clarifies. "I saw how you and Varric looked at each other when you told me Merrill was a mage -- I know you did your research on me."

"I know you were a slave in Tevinter," Hawke says, deciding this is one of the few situations where honesty is the best policy. "You were owned by a magister who gave you those markings. You escaped and spent a couple of years taking out magisters on your own before picking up formal work as an assassin."

It's a blunt summary but when Fenris doesn't respond right away, Hawke wonders if he's missed something crucial.

"Have you ever been to Tevinter?"

Hawke blinks at the question but shakes his head. "Can't say that I have. I've heard the horror stories though." His eyes linger on the dormant lines of Fenris' lyrium. "I also heard what you did to the first magisters you killed. Slavery there must have been brutal."

Fenris' smile is colourless. "That's one word for it." He holds up his hand, flexing it into a fist as the lyrium glows along his fingers. "What about my markings? What do you know about them?"

"All anyone knows," Hawke admits. "They're lyrium, put there with magic to give you your abilities. I'm guessing Darius-

"Danarius."

"Danarius," Hawke amends. "I assume he wanted a powerful slave?"

"A bodyguard," Fenris says. "Primarily."

"Looks like he got his wish," Hawke says. "You're certainly impressive."

Perhaps wisely, Fenris ignores the compliment. "There were other subjects before me," he says. "Other slaves Danarius experimented on. Humans, elves, ones stronger and faster than me, but I was the only one to survive the ritual."

Hawke opens his mouth but Fenris answers the question before he can ask. "I know nothing of the ritual itself, save that a considerable amount of blood magic was required. I don't even remember what was done to me -- the pain-" He shakes his head. "It was indescribable."

"Shit," Hawke murmurs. "Fenris, I-"

"The agony wiped away everything." He's staring past Hawke, lost in his own thoughts when he says, "Any life I had before becoming a slave, any family, even a name beyond that of Danarius' choosing, it was gone." 

Hawke's stomach rolls unpleasantly. "You don't even remember your own name?"

"My name, like everything else, was a gift from Danarius. His 'little wolf'." There's a predatory slant to Fenris' lips when he smiles. "I suspect he regrets that decision now that his pet has killed so many of his colleagues."

"I'm sorry," Hawke says honestly. "I figured having lyrium seared into your skin wouldn't be a pleasant process but memory loss?" He winces. "I didn't realise it would be that painful. Do the markings still bother you?"

"At times," Fenris says. "But they proved useful. I wouldn't have been able to escape without them."

Hawke nods, still absorbing the information. "So that magister, the one you killed, was he involved with the markings somehow?"

"Not that I remember," Fenris says, "but he may have been. I don't recall anything from before the markings but the weeks after the ritual are… unclear. I was adjusting to the pain and to the presence of that much lyrium; things were blurry."

"Were?"

Fenris worries his lower lip between his teeth as he taps his white-lined fingers against his knee. "Something came back to me at the party," he says hesitantly. "I can't remember everything -- it's still hazy -- but I recognised Galbus' laugh. He-"

He takes a breath, flattening his hands against his thighs, and Hawke reaches out to rest a hand on Fenris' knee as he says, "It's all right. You don't need to tell me if you don't want to."

The offer of an out is genuine but Fenris turns it down flat. "No, I owe you an explanation."

"You've given me one," Hawke reassures him. "Galbus was a piece of shit, he did something terrible to you, the end."

Fenris smiles at that, resting his head back against the stone. "I was blindfolded -- I don't know what Galbus did to me."

Hawke frowns, confused, and Fenris explains, "After the ritual, Danarius wanted to show off what he'd accomplished. He held dozens of parties over the years and I served willingly at all of them but this one was too soon. I was weak from the lyrium and in no condition to please his guests so he-" Fenris' slim fingers curl around his wrist, rubbing absently. "He tied me down. Lead-lined cuffs, so the lyrium couldn't slide through them."

He blinks, shaking himself out of his stupor as he looks up at Hawke again. "It was a small gathering by Danarius' standards. I think there were only four or five other magisters."

"And Galbus was one of them?"

"I never saw any of their faces," Fenris admits. "Danarius had me blindfolded, laid out on the table like a decoration, but Galbus was there. When he found me at Corvinus', he was sure to reintroduce himself."

"Asshole," Hawke says with venom. The thought of Fenris chained down for magisters to admire is not a pleasant one and he can't keep the disgust out of his voice when he says, "How the fuck can they do that to another person?"

"I wasn't a person," Fenris says. "I was property, newly enhanced. Danarius wanted to make sure his fellow magisters could see me. Make use of me."

Hawke frowns. "Use?"

Fenris is impossibly composed when he meets Hawke's eyes. "They tested spells on me. Poured wine on me as an excuse to lick at the lyrium. Fucked me just to see how the markings would react."

Hawke momentarily forgets how to speak. His mouth opens and closes, making silent shapes of words, but it's a long time before he finally pulls together a sentence. "They fucked you?"

Fenris' expression is blank. "Danarius was an excellent host."

"An ex-" Hawke swallows down his rising nausea. "Maker, Fenris, I…"

"Don't," Fenris says. "You have your explanation -- I don't need pity."

"It's not pity," Hawke says, still horrified. "It's- Maker, I don't even know what it is. Is there a Tevinter word for wanting to resurrect someone just so you can kill them again? Because it's that."

Fenris smirks. "I expect the Imperium has a spell to help with that."

"Of course they do," Hawke mutters. "Sick bastards, the lot of them."

"Why do you think I've killed so many?" Fenris says with a shrug, and Hawke honestly has no idea how he can be so calm.

"I'm very in favour of that," Hawke says. "We take out Corvinus and I'd be happy to join you." He gives Fenris' knee another squeeze and asks, uncertain, "You said there were other magisters there that first time. Did you…"

"Danarius had a lot of parties," Fenris says carefully. "I've taken out as many of his guests as I could but he had a big social circle. Other than Galbus, I don't know who else was at the first party."

"We can figure it out?" Hawke offers. "After Corvinus. I mean, if you want to. If you'd rather just let it go back to being blurry, that is entirely understandable."

"It's fine," Fenris says with confidence. "Galbus is dead. It was just unexpected, to have memories surface after all these years."

"Makes you wonder what else is lurking in there?"

Hawke knows it's a mistake as soon as he says it and he lets his head thunk back against the stone. "Fuck, I'm sorry, I didn't mean that. I was just-" He sighs. "There's no real way to come back from that, is there?"

In spite of everything, Fenris smiles. "No, not really."

"I'll just throw myself off the Chantry now then," Hawke says, looking down over the city. "Save us both any more embarrassment."

Fenris chuckles, leg swinging beneath him. "Don't you have a magister to kill first?"

"I do," Hawke agrees. "Dying of shame will have to wait until after I stab Corvinus in his cold, black heart." He tries for a smile. "I could still use your help with that, you know."

Fenris raises an eyebrow. "Even though I might snap and slaughter someone again?"

Hawke grimaces at the prospect of another memory resurfacing. "I'm confident they'll deserve it. Besides, the sooner we kill Corvinus, the sooner I can help you track down any stray magisters."

"You do make a tempting offer," Fenris says, tucking his legs underneath him, "but I work better alone."

"Anders didn't mean it?" Hawke says hopefully. "It was a stressful night -- everyone was just tired."

"I know. I can't say I trust your mages but it's not because of them." His smile is empty when he gestures to his face. "Even with the wine. This was a bad idea from the start -- you don't need me putting you at risk."

"I'm a thief and an assassin," Hawke points out. "I co-run a small criminal empire. I'm not exactly risk averse."

"I understand," Fenris says, "but I've made my decision." He looks genuinely remorseful when he meets Hawke's eyes. "I'm sorry about Corvinus. It wasn't my intention to deny you revenge."

"It's all right," Hawke says, surprised by his own truthfulness. "I can't deny I was angry but I understand why you did it. And I can understand why you wouldn't want to announce your reasons to a roomful of near-strangers." 

He shifts position against the stone, letting his legs dangle down as he says, "We'll get him next time."

"I wish you luck," Fenris says quietly. "If I can help-" Hawke opens his mouth and Fenris rolls his eyes as he finishes, "-in any way that doesn't involve working with you, let me know."

"You'll be the first person I call," Hawke promises. "Are you going to be okay? Sure you don't want me to look at those wounds?"

"I'm sure," Fenris says. He's unfairly attractive when he smiles. "Have a good night, Hawke."

"Right back at you." The floor is further than it seems and Hawke lands with a groan. "Stay safe."

Fenris just nods, watching from his perch on the archway, and Hawke gives him a final wave as he heads down the stairs again. 

The sense of disappointment is hard to ignore -- he came to get Fenris back, not be mildly traumatised by Fenris' past and lose him for good -- and as he glances back up over his shoulder, he really hopes this isn't the last he'll see of Fenris.

That hope is reinforced when Fenris reaches for the sandwich next to him and Hawke beams as he jogs the rest of the way down the stairs. 

He makes a mental note to bring Fenris some soup tomorrow.


	7. Chapter 7

Fenris isn't sure which he dislikes more: the squelch of slippery leaves under his boots or the fact that he has to wear boots at all.

He prefers to work barefoot if given a choice, both for stealth and for comfort, but as he hurries on through the woods, the abundance of mud and potential splinters makes footwear a necessity. His blade swings from his hip as he goes, just above the still-healing cut on his thigh, and he wrinkles his nose in annoyance when a twinge of pain sparks along his ribs.

It's been five days since the fight at Corvinus' party and while he's over the worst of the discomfort, he knows from experience that he still needs a couple more days to heal fully. In an ideal world, those days would be spent in Kirkwall with Hawke bringing him increasingly extravagant gifts of food but Fenris knows all too well that the world is far from ideal.

Hawke had brought him soup on the second day, homemade stew on the third, and an entire roast chicken on the fourth. Fenris had tried to sneak out before dinnertime delivery that evening but after Hawke had shown up in the middle afternoon with an oversized cake and a sheepish grin, it would've been impolite to refuse.

It still sits heavy in his stomach as he lowers his head against the cold wind and hurries further away from Kirkwall.

It's been a disorienting few days, a confusing mix of feigned enslavement and actual kindness, and as he grits his teeth to stop them chattering in the cold, he's looking forward to finding clarity at the point of his blade.

Right up until a big hand closes around his upper arm.

His thoughts are tangled enough that when he whirls around, he isn't sure whether he should be throwing a punch or bracing to receive one. He pulls away on his instinct, hand going to the hilt of his blade, but he blinks when he makes out a face in the moonlight.

"Hawke?"

Hawke gives him a sheepish smile as he lets go of Fenris' arm. "Sorry. Didn't mean to scare you."

The wind is brutally cold as it whips through the trees and Fenris inches back, suspicious. "What are you doing out here?"

"Taking a punt," Hawke says. He's cloaked, warm fabric covering his shoulders and arms, but Fenris doesn't miss the glint of the blades on his hips. "I had a feeling you were getting ready to make a move today."

The cake is even heavier in his stomach as Fenris moves back further. Familiar anger flares in his chest at Hawke for duping him and at himself for falling for it yet again.

"You were tracking me?" It comes out weaker than he intended and he glares up at Hawke as he warns, "The last man who tried to capture me was sent back to the Imperium in six pieces."

"I'm not trying to capture you!" Hawke says quickly. "I just had an inkling you might do this, that's all."

Fenris folds his arms with a frown. "Do what?"

"Go sneaking off in the dead of night to take on a magister by yourself," Hawke says. There's a hint of a smile on his lips when he meets Fenris' eyes. "Or are you expecting me to believe you aren't headed straight to Corvinus' estate right now?"

Fenris blinks, too surprised to hide his reaction. "I thought-"

"That I was going to kidnap you and haul you back to Kirkwall?" Hawke's smile is crooked and oddly soothing. "And here I thought we were starting to be friends."

Fenris' cheeks heat. "Friends?"

"I don't bring that much food to every person who happens to be passing through town," Hawke points out. "And I definitely don't go chasing after everyone who might be doing something foolish." He purses his lips, glancing at the blade at Fenris' side. "This is a bad plan, Fenris."

Fenris stiffens. "It's not your business."

"The assassin I partnered with is running off in the middle of the night to kill the target I told him about? That does sort of seem like my business."

Shifting uncomfortably, Fenris avoids Hawke's gaze. He feels like a slave again, caught making a mistake and pinned under his master's disapproving gaze as he awaits his punishment.

But this is Hawke, not Danarius, he reminds himself, and when he raises his eyes again, he's met with a look of concern instead of the back of a hand.

"I've killed magisters before," he says firmly. "I won't fail this time."

"Fenris…"

"I can do it," he insists. "I work alone. I always have. It's safer this way."

"Not for you," Hawke says. "I know you're more than capable but you can't take on Corvinus alone. None of us can. You go in there and he'll tear you to pieces."

"I can sneak in-"

"You can't," Hawke says bluntly. "There are guards on the perimeter, wards on every door and window. He has barriers, traps, warnings attuned to every person he thinks is a threat, and with the amount of lyrium in those markings, you would trip every single one."

"I can get past traps."

"Even if you do, you'll still be no match for Corvinus." Hawke's voice is earnest and firm as he steps forward. "He's too dangerous. I'm not letting you get yourself killed on my behalf."

"I'm not doing this on your behalf," Fenris says. It's not quite a lie, not when taking down a magister is so satisfying in itself, but it's hard to ignore the guilt which has driven him out here. "I assure you, I'll enjoy sending Corvinus' corpse back to the Imperial Senate."

"And I can respect that," Hawke says, lips twitching in an almost smile. "We kill Corvinus and you can take first dibs on the corpse but it's still not safe for you to go after him alone. I tried it," he says, smile fading. "After what happened to my mother, I tried to go after him on my own. It took nearly a week for Anders to patch me up afterwards."

An unpleasant frisson runs through him at the thought of Hawke being that badly injured but Fenris shakes it off. "I'm not you," he snaps. "I served under a magister for years. I was given these markings -- I was trained for this. I haven't found any magister who could best me one on one."

"Really?" Hawke meets his eyes. "Because I can't help but notice that you haven't killed your old master yet."

Fenris can't keep himself from flinching. Shame and anger course through him at the reminder of his own cowardice and he pulls in on himself as he fumbles for a response.

"I'm sorry," Hawke says. "That was- I didn't mean that." He scrubs a hand over his face. "I'm just trying to say that Corvinus is a threat. More than the other magisters you've faced so far."

He sounds tired when he looks back up, the moonlight casting shadows beneath his eyes. "I saw what Corvinus did to my mother. He butchers people -- he tears them apart with magic and blades like they aren't even human. He needs to die, I'm not disputing that, but not at the price of him doing that to you too."

His smile is weak. "Believe me, if I thought you stood a chance at killing that bastard alone, I'd be boosting you over the walls myself, but that won't happen. He'll kill you, slow and painful, and I'll be left wanting him dead even more than I already do."

Fenris looks down. He's cold, the wind creeping in through his armour, and he stumbles over his words as he says, "I just- I put you in danger. All of you. If I hadn't attacked Galbus, then you-" He swallows. "I kept you from your revenge. You at least deserve Corvinus' death and I thought if I killed him I could put things right." He glances up at him. "I was intending to make it up to you."

"Fenris…" Hawke sighs but there's sadness behind it rather than the expected frustration. "This isn't the way. You don't have anything to make up for. After what he did to you, I don't blame you for killing Galbus. No-one could."

Fenris swallows. "It was years ago."

"Then killing him was long overdue," Hawke says. "Look, if you want to help kill Corvinus, that's great but I'd much rather you work with us, help us plan, share your techniques..." He gives him a lopsided smile. "Let me feed you even more food. You running off to get yourself killed is absolutely not on that list."

Fenris shakes his head. "You heard the mage. I'm a loose cannon, a liability…"

"You're my friend," Hawke says firmly. "I trust you. I don't think you'd willingly put me or any of us in danger."

"I wouldn't," Fenris promises.

"Then comes back. Work with us," he pleads. "Or leave and take another job somewhere else. Somewhere safe. Just please don't get hurt because of some misplaced guilt. I've lost enough to Corvinus already."

The wind picks up, whistling through the leaves, and Fenris curls in on himself as the chill begins to replace the fire fuelling him. He feels wretched, too stupid to follow orders in the first place and too stupid to fix his own mess, and his cheeks colour in humiliation when he murmurs, "I'm sorry."

"Don't be," Hawke says. "Your heart was in the right place."

He sounds sincere and Fenris looks up as he draws nearer. "Besides, if I had a sovereign for every time someone stopped me from making rash choices with good intentions, I'd be-" He frowns. "I probably wouldn't actually be rich. I would've just bought a lot more pastries."

Fenris' smile is weak. He's wrung out, ricocheting between anger and guilt for days, and he's exhausted enough that handling this kind of acceptance is a step too far. "I…"

"It's all right."

Hawke's voice is gentle as he reaches out and Fenris finds himself taking Hawke's hand without thinking.

He realises what he's doing a moment later. He tries to pull away, embarrassed by his mistake, but Hawke keeps hold, linking his fingers through Fenris' gauntlet until their palms are pressed together.

"Maker," Hawke says, brow creasing, "you're freezing."

He moves in, warm hand brushing the bare skin of Fenris' arm through the gaps in his armour, and his frown only deepens when he cups Fenris' cheek. Fenris shivers against him, the cold of the wind heightened by the heat of Hawke's body, and Hawke strokes his thumb along his cheekbone as Fenris tries to keep his teeth from chattering.

"You're so cold," Hawke says. Fenris isn't sure if he's imagining the note of worry in his voice. "Guess all that lyrium doesn't help with insulation." His hand finds Fenris' back, warmth blossoming between his shoulder blades as he Hawke moves to his side. "Come on. Let's get back to Kirkwall and get you warmed up."

"I don't need-"

"Just humour me?" Hawke asks. "Please?"

Fenris hears the splatter of the rain on the leaves first and gasps at the sudden shock of water on his face and the back of his neck. He pulls his shoulders in tighter, ducking his head as the heavens open, but he blinks in confusion when Hawke only tugs him closer.

His heavy cloak stretches around Fenris' shoulders, shifting up to cover both their heads, and Fenris steps back in surprise. "What-"

"It's a big cloak," Hawke says, coaxing him in against his side. "There's no reason for you to get soaked when there's plenty of room for two."

Fenris yields, letting Hawke shepherd him under the safety of the cloak. It's warm and thick and Fenris finds himself huddling into the heat of Hawke's body as the rain patters above them.

"See," Hawke says, smiling, "isn't teamwork great?"

Fenris looks at the muddy ground as he wraps his arms around himself for warmth. "I haven't worked in a lot of teams."

Hawke makes a noise of understanding. "Your guard-captain."

All these years later, it's still an unsettling memory and Fenris give a tiny shrug. "It hasn't gone well in the past. It's new to me," he admits. "Trusting someone."

Hawke goes very still next to him and Fenris looks up to see the pleased smile on his lips. "You trust me?"

Fenris almost laughs at that. In their short time together, his feelings towards Hawke have been a jumble -- he's been frustrating, kind, naive, attractive, prying, funny, friendly -- but trust is the least of it.

Hawke's expression is open, eyes bright in the semi-darkness, and the words come easily to Fenris' lips. "I trust you."

Hawke beams, lips curving in a handsome smile, and Fenris can't keep himself staring. It's been a long time since he's kissed anyone (and longer still since he's actually wanted to) but as the rain beats down above them, he really, really wants to try.

The gap between them is closed before he can think twice about it. Hawke's lips are warm but slack against his and Fenris goes still when he doesn't respond.

Flushing in embarrassment, he backs off as much as the cloak allows. "I'm sorry. I-" He bites his lip, cursing himself for his own stupidity. "That was foolish."

Hawke's smile is back. "Not the word I'd use. I'm just surprised." He rests his hand on Fenris' shoulder, holding the cloak above them with his other arm. "You know you don't have to do this, right? I don't need this from you if you don't want it."

The question is a new one but it only serves to strength Fenris' resolve. "I do," he says. "Want this, I mean. You're a good man, Hawke."

"Oh." Hawke grins, visibly pleased. "Thank you?"

Steeling himself for a second rejection, Fenris leans up to give him another tentative kiss. He can't quite tamp down the surge of relieved delight when Hawke kisses back this time, moving his hand to Fenris' hip as he slants their lips together with comfortable ease.

His lips part against Fenris' but he pulls back sharply before their tongues can touch.

"I just don't want you to feel like you have to," Hawke says quickly. "We can just be friends -- there aren't any conditions attached to staying with me."

Fenris' heart sinks as the rejection hits. It's rare for someone not to make use of what he's offered them and he inches back as he gets the message. "I understand." He tries for a smile. "You must have better options than a runaway slave who can't even follow orders."

"Hey, no," Hawke says, squeezing his hip firmly. "That's not what I meant. You're the best damn option I've ever had -- I just don't want to pressure you into anything."

"You're not pressuring me," Fenris says, stunned by the question. "I want this, if you do."

"Oh, I do," Hawke says with a broad smile. He dips down to drop a light kiss on Fenris' lips, followed by another and another. "I really, really do."

Fenris feels a little like he's hallucinating when Hawke pulls him in closer for a deeper kiss. He's gentle with him, far more than Fenris deserves, and Fenris yields gladly as Hawke's tongue curls against his own. He's warm all over and some of the chill finally starts to fade as Fenris basks in the heat of Hawke's body.

They're both smiling when they break apart. The rain keeps coming, splashing over their boots and weighing down the cloak, and Fenris reaches up to help keep them covered as Hawke says, "I, uh- I guess we should get back to Kirkwall? Assuming I've talked you out of getting yourself killed."

Fenris nods, not quite trusting himself to speak as Hawke settles an arm around his shoulders.

In the years since Danarius, he's mostly used sex to serve other purposes -- to find information, to gain access, to keep people quiet -- but as Hawke steers them both in the direction of Kirkwall, he finds that he's actually looking forward to this.

 

**:::**

 

Hawke's boots are soaked through by the time they make it back to his mansion.

His feet squeak on the stone floor as he toes them off and he tries not to slip on his own socks when Fenris pushes him back against the wall to kiss him soundly. Hawke's not entirely convinced he didn't slip and break his neck on the way back but if this is the afterlife, he figures he's been giving the Maker far too little credit.

Fenris' fingers, now thankfully free of his gauntlets, hook in the front of his pants as they work at the criss-crossed laces, and Hawke breaks away from the kiss with a groan before they can go lower. "Wait, wait-"

Fenris stops instantly, hands falling to his sides, and Hawke kisses him quickly before he gets the wrong idea. "We should relocate," he says, pushing his wet hair back off his face. "Bedroom?"

He doesn't think he'll ever get tired of the way Fenris smiles when he agrees, "Bedroom."

Hawke's trousers cling to his thighs as he jogs up the stairs but Fenris is on him as soon as they make it into the bedroom, unfastening the rest of the laces and pushing Hawke's pants down his legs with ease. He eases away when Hawke tries to return the favour, setting his weapons on the bedside table before peeling off the rest of his armour and pulling his jerkin over his head in one languid movement.

Distantly, Hawke thinks he should be concerned that Fenris is experienced in making this a display but he can't help but enjoy the sight of the markings swirling over the planes of his back. His own shirt tangles around his arms in his rush to strip down but when he finally gets free, it's to see Fenris standing in front of him with a knowing smirk on his face.

"Hi," Hawke says intelligently.

Fenris' smile widens and he stretches up to kiss him. Hawke can feel the thrum of lyrium as Fenris' hands come to rest on his bare hips and he makes a noise of encouragement into the kiss as Fenris walks him back to the bed.

He bounces when he drops to a sitting position and opens his eyes in time to see the lyrium flicker as Fenris straddles his thighs. He's still in his leggings, the black material clinging to every inch of him, and Hawke looks up at him in awe. "You're amazing, you know that?"

Fenris' movements stutter and Hawke kisses a brand when it crosses his collarbone. "Just outstandingly attractive."

Fenris' smile is almost shy. "Thank you?"

"My pleasure," Hawke says with a grin as he leans up to kiss him again. Fenris rides him back down to the bed, tongue sliding easily against Hawke's as he rolls his hips, and Hawke's hands find Fenris' ass as his cock thickens between his legs.

Fenris' teeth scrape Hawke's earlobe as he dips down to ask, "I- Do you have anything to use?"

"Oh, yeah. Sure." Coaxing Fenris along with him, he shuffles back on the bed until he can reach the nightstand. The jar of slick is in its usual place and he palms it as he says with a smile, "Are you in a giving or receiving mood?"

There's a confused little frown on Fenris' face when he sits back on his heels.

"I mean, I'm good with either," Hawke says. His mind snags on the thought of Fenris chained down beneath Galbus and he adds quickly, "I'm happy if you want to go on top?"

Fenris' frown stays in place as he looks between Hawke and the jar, and Hawke swallows past a lump in his throat as he takes a deeply unpleasant guess. "Fenris, has no-one ever asked you which you prefer?"

"It never came up," Fenris admits. "I- My experience is limited in that respect."

"Shit, I'm sorry," Hawke says. "What dicks."

Fenris' hesitancy fades a little when he shrugs. "In a way."

Hawke groans. "That was awful." He stretches up to kiss him. "You should be ashamed."

Some of the lingering tension leaves Fenris when he kisses him back. "I'll try to be."

"Maybe later," Hawke says. "Please try to be naked now."

Fenris complies readily, climbing off Hawke's lap long enough to tug his leggings off. The markings are no less detailed on his legs, trailing over his calves and thighs, and Hawke winces in sympathy when he sees the glint of lyrium on Fenris' half-hard cock.

"Do they hurt?" he asks, drawing Fenris back onto his lap. "We can stop if they do. I don't want to-"

His sentence dissolves into a noise of surprise when Fenris captures his lips again. His body is lithe and eager as he rolls his hips, his dick brushing against Hawke's, and Hawke fumbles for the slick before reaching down to touch for the first time.

Fenris gasps into the kiss when Hawke closes his hand around him, movements slowing as Hawke gives a couple of firm strokes with his oil-covered hand to remove some of the friction.

"I've never-" Fenris begins, before gesturing nervously down at his slick cock. "I don't want to hurt you."

"I know," Hawke says, kissing his cheek and smearing the oil down his own dick too. "And I don't think you would but how about we leave that decision for another day?"

Fenris opens his mouth, visibly perplexed, but closes it again in realisation when Hawke shifts down until they're closer together. Fenris isn't as big as him, not quite, but it's still a stretch for Hawke to wrap his hand around both their lengths as he strokes slowly.

"Oh." Fenris blinks down at him with a pleased little smile. "That feels good."

"I'd hope so," Hawke teases, stroking faster. The pressure of his hand is aided by the friction of them moving together and Fenris lets out a soft moan as he pushes up into Hawke's grip.

"You can touch," Hawke offers. "We can go at whatever speed you like."

"This is fine," Fenris says but he reaches down nonetheless. White lined fingers brush Hawke's as he takes a tentative hold but as Hawke strokes faster, it doesn't take them long to fall into the same rhythm.

Pleasure sparks quicker than Hawke was expecting, tiredness lowering his stamina in this respect, and he looks up at Fenris as heat begins to trickle through him.

"I like your nose."

Fenris pauses, looking at him in bemusement, but Hawke remains unabashed as he stretches up to kiss the tip of Fenris' nose. "It's a good nose. Part of a very good face."

Fenris' cheeks turn red but Hawke kisses him again, once on each cheek and once between his eyes to stop him from hiding behind his hair. "I like your neck too," he says, trailing kisses downward. "And your shoulders, and your arms, and your chest…" He plants a kiss just above the still-healing cut on Fenris' ribs. "The injuries, on the other hand, I can take or leave."

Fenris laughs at that, batting Hawke away from his ribs before threading his fingers through his hair to tug him up for a kiss. "The feeling is mutual," he says, with a level of seriousness that Hawke has come to find very endearing. "I… like your nose too. And your other parts."

Hawke beams. "Me and my parts are very flattered, thank you."

Fenris rolls his eyes but moves in closer anyway. He rests his arm on Hawke's shoulder and ducks his head to steal another kiss as he quickens the pace of their hands. Hawke responds on both counts, stroking faster and settling his other hand on Fenris' back to hold him close as he says, "Next time we're going to have to do this properly."

"Next time?"

"Only if you want to," Hawke says. "Although I'm going to be very sad if I don't get chance to kiss every single inch of you when we're both more awake."

He's getting used to the way Fenris struggles with receiving compliments but it only makes him want to give him more.

"I-" Fenris' voice catches as Hawke twists his hand around their lengths. "I would be amenable to a next time."

"Fantastic," Hawke says past a groan. "Because I'm really not going to last much longer this time."

He's hot now after the cold of the journey back, his hair damp with sweat as well as rainwater, and he closes his eyes against the building pressure when Fenris presses a rough kiss to his lips. It's messy, lips and tongues clashing as their hands move quicker between their bodies, and Fenris breaks away with a groan as he rests his forehead against Hawke's shoulder.

"That's it," Hawke says, breathing hard. "Whenever you're ready."

"Hawke…"

Fenris buries his face in Hawke's shoulder, hand tightening in his hair as he pushes into the circle of their hands with shallow thrusts. Hawke kisses the top of his head, smoothing a hand down Fenris' spine as he clings onto the edge of his own release.

"I've got you," he promises, fighting to focus on Fenris instead of the heat searing through him. "I'm right here. I-"

Hawke's honestly a little disappointed when he comes first. The rush of pleasure is solid and welcome but when he feels Fenris shiver against him as he comes, he kind of wishes he'd been able to give him his full attention.

Fenris doesn't look up, just gasps out a shaky moan against Hawke's chest as he spills over their fingers. His shoulders are trembling, his breath coming out hot and shallow along Hawke's collarbone, and Hawke pulls himself together enough to run his fingers through Fenris' hair. "Are you all right?"

It takes a moment for Fenris to respond. His face is pale when he sits back and nods. "I'm well, I-" His eyes meet Hawke's for a second before skittering away. "I should go."

He's off Hawke's lap and pulling his clothes on before Hawke can even process what he's saying. His hand is sticky with come and he wipes it on his thigh as he sits up, lost. "Go where?"

"I'm sorry," Fenris says. "It's too much."

"Wait," Hawke pleads, scrambling out of bed and into the closest pair of pants. (They're striped. It's not ideal.) "Are you okay? Did I do something wrong?"

"It's not you." Fenris paces as he fits his blade into its sheath. "When we- I began to remember things. Just flashes but-"

Hawke's stomach clenches. "You remembered something else? Was it Galbus again?"

"No," Fenris says quickly. "No, it was earlier. From before I received the markings. It's a blur but I- it's more than I've had before."

"Then that's good, right? You getting your memories back?" Hawke locates an equally terrible shirt and rounds the bed in the hopes of offering comfort. "We can talk about it if you want? See what caused it? You don't need to leave."

"I can't," Fenris says, shaking his head. "I need to go."

"But-"

He cuts himself off at the sound of the front door swinging shut and sighs when he hears Anders' voice from downstairs, "Hawke?"

"Just stay," he says to Fenris. "Please? I'll be right back."

Fenris eyes him, suspicious. "Is that the mage?"

"He's probably just here to steal food," Hawke says. "Or possibly the neighbour's cat. Either way I'll deal with it. Just please wait for a few minutes? I know how dumb this sounds but I feel like we should talk."

There a healthy amount of skepticism in Fenris' voice when he says, "All right. I still wish to leave but I will wait for you to speak with the mage."

"Hawke?" Anders calls again. "Are you here?"

"Be right there!" Hawke yells back before mouthing to Fenris, "Thank you."

He's careful to close the door behind him as he hurries downstairs. Anders is leaning against the doorjamb of the entryway, staff in hand, and Hawke frowns when he gets close enough to see Anders' all-black outfit in the light of the dying fire. "Did you fall into a tar pit? What happened to your normal clothes?"

Anders' smile doesn't quite reach his eyes and something cold takes up residence in Hawke's chest when he hears the quiet thump of footsteps behind him. "Anders?"

The footsteps are joined by a clatter of armour and Hawke whips around to see nearly a dozen well-armed guards emerge from the kitchen and the storage room. They surround him, cutting off any hope of retreating and Hawke looks back at Anders in panic, his mind firmly on Fenris in the upstairs bedroom. "What are you doing?"

"I'm sorry, Hawke."

Anders almost sounds like he means it.

He doesn't lift a finger to help as two guards step forward to pin Hawke's arms behind his back and Hawke struggles fruitlessly as they shackle his wrists together. "Anders, what have you done?"

"Something deeply sensible."

The answer comes from the darkness behind Anders and Hawke's eyes widen when he sees flames dance across long fingers. "No…"

There's a cold smile on Corvinus' lips when he emerges from the shadows. Anders doesn't so much as flinch at his appearance and Hawke can only stare at them in horror as Corvinus meets his eyes.

"It's such a pleasure to see you again, Hawke. It's been far too long."


	8. Chapter 8

"I'm going to kill you," Hawke snarls, pulling against the guards' hold. "I'm going to stab you in your fucking face and I'm going to enjoy it."

Beside Corvinus, Anders wrinkles his nose a little at the threat but Corvinus only smiles. "Quite."

Failing to suppress an angry growl, Hawke turns on Anders. "You did this? You're working with him, of all people?"

"It was the best choice we had." Anders actually sounds sincere when he takes a tentative step forward. "We weren't going to be able to get close to him again, not after what happened at the party. With revenge out of the question, this seemed like the best option. He's promised not to hurt any innocent people anymore. Not when there are so many others who deserve it more."

Hawke recoils in horror. "You're helping him kill people?"

"No!" Anders straightens up. "He'd kill either way. I'm just redirecting his focus."

Corvinus' bony hand comes to rest on Anders' shoulder as he smiles. "From what your mage tells me, there are plenty of templars in these parts whose disappearances wouldn't be regarded as a great loss."

It takes Hawke a moment to decide on an appropriate reaction but when he looks back at Anders, he settles for a classic.

"What the fuck, Anders? I know you hate the templars but they don't deserve this. No-one does!"

"Some deserve worse," Anders says flatly. "I'm sorry, Hawke. I know you wanted revenge but this is the only way this can work. We should be safe now."

"Because I feel so safe being ambushed in my own house!" Hawke rattles his shackles to punctuate his point. "Why would you lead him here?"

"I wanted you to hear it in person," Anders says. "Preferably somewhere where you wouldn't kill me as soon as I started talking."

Hawke narrows his eyes. Anders inches back a little.

"I just wanted to talk," he promises. "We're not going to hurt you."

"Of course not," Corvinus says with a smirk. "But we will have to ask you to come with us, just for a short while."

Anders whips around at that. "What? But we agreed-"

"We agreed not to kill him," Corvinus says in a tone that brooks no disagreement. "I'm not particularly convinced that Serah Hawke here isn't going to try to kill _us_ , so I'd like to keep an eye on him."

"But he-"

"I'm afraid this isn't up for debate, my friend," Corvinus says. He clicks his fingers. "Guards, please prepare our guest for travel."

"No," Hawke pleads, fighting against his restraints. He's conscious that Fenris is still upstairs and keeps his voice low as he says, "No, you can't do this!"

"Hawke?"

Closing his eyes, Hawke curses under his breath as the door to his bedroom swings open. He doesn't need to look what comes next, can hear the metallic sound of Fenris' blade being drawn and the thump of Fenris' bare feet on the wooden stairs before he comes to an abrupt halt as cold steel presses against Hawke's neck.

"How fortunate," Corvinus says and Hawke opens his eyes to see the smile of genuine delight on his face. "I was going to send some men to retrieve you separately but it's so good of you to make this easy for me."

Fenris' expression is one of furious panic as he looks between Hawke, Corvinus and Anders. "Let him go," he orders, blade raised.

"Doubtful," Corvinus says, stepping forward. "As much as I value Serah Hawke here, you are a much more unique prize. I've often wondered what became of Danarius' grand experiment." He smirks. "It's so like him to let you slip your leash."

Fenris shakes his head, shifting to a defensive position. "I will not submit to a magister."

"Also doubtful," Corvinus says, unfazed. "Titus, if you would."

The punch to Hawke's kidney comes as an unpleasant surprise. He drops to his knees with a groan and hisses through clenched teeth, "Motherfuck-"

The guard -- Titus, apparently -- lashes out again with a kick to his stomach and a punch to his ribs, and Hawke gasps for air as the second guard grabs his hair and raises his fist.

"Stop!" Fenris shouts. "Don't hurt him."

"Gladly," Corvinus says. His voice is oily and unpleasant and Hawke desperately wants to headbutt him. "You surrender your weapon and come along quietly and I'm sure Titus can be persuaded to spare your friend."

Beside him, Titus grunts and smacks Hawke across the face. His head snaps to the side, blood spilling over his tongue from where his teeth cut into his cheek, and Hawke spits out the mess at Corvinus' feet. "Leave him alone," he says between breaths. "You have me. I'm the one who was after you. Fenris had nothing to do with this."

"He's right," Anders says and Hawke spits out another mouthful of blood as he looks up at him. "Hawke is the real threat. If you need to contain him for a couple of weeks, I can accept that but I wouldn't involve the elf. He's barely better than a wild animal -- he'll only cause trouble."

Corvinus tuts as he eyes Anders. "My dear boy, I am not averse to trouble. Particularly not when it's as fascinating as this."

On the stairs, Fenris backs off a fraction, gaze flitting to Hawke in fear, but Hawke can only brace for impact when Titus raises his gauntleted fist again.

"Enough," Corvinus cuts in, cold and imperious. "As entertaining as it may be to haggle with peasants, I have no wish to prolong this further. Elf, you will drop your weapons and surrender or my guards will cut your friend's throat."

As if to demonstrate, the second guard tightens his grip on Hawke's hair to pull his head back while Titus presses his sword to Hawke's neck. The steel is cold and sharp against his skin and Hawke winces when the blade digs in as he swallows.

"No!" Fenris pleads at the same time that Anders says, "Wait!"

Corvinus ignores both of them as he looks expectantly at Fenris. "Well?"

"Fenris, run!" Hawke yells. Hot blood runs down his neck and he blinks away the involuntary tears as he gasps, "Please, trust me, just go-"

He's cut off when Titus hits him again and he cries out in pain when the blade digs only in deeper, "Fuck…"

Any further protests are curtailed by the clatter of Fenris' blade dropping to the ground. Hawke's heart sinks and he struggles against the guards' grip as Fenris moves down the stairs, hands raised in surrender. "Fenris, don't-"

The victorious smile on Corvinus' face makes Hawke want to both murder him and throw up. "Wise choice," he says calmly. "Chain him for transport."

Fenris flinches as the guards approach but his expression is eerily blank as his hands are shackled like Hawke's at the small of his back.

"Fenris, listen to me," Hawke calls as he's dragged to his feet. "We're going to get out of this, okay? Just trust me. It's going to be all ri-"

The hilt of Titus' blade slams into Hawke's temple and the world falls away before he can finish.

 

:::

 

Hawke wakes up to the sound of clanking.

"Varric," he mumbles, "if you've got more of those creepy puppets, I swear by the Maker…"

"Hawke?"

The sound of Fenris' voice is a surprise and Hawke grimaces at the ringing pain in his head as he opens his eyes. The taste of blood lingers on his tongue and he lifts his hand to wipe his mouth, only to be pulled up short by another loud clank. "What the-"

His vision gradually becomes clearer and he pushes himself to a seating position to find that his hands are still shackled, albeit in front of him rather than behind him. The chain snakes beneath a grate in the floor to stop him from standing (or running, or fighting back) and Hawke gives the metal a grumpy tug before looking around.

The dungeon isn't a surprise but his heart sinks at the sight of Fenris in the cell next to him, chained down in the same way. There are bruises on his face and dried blood under his nose but otherwise Hawke is reassured to see that he doesn't look too badly hurt.

"I'm sorry," Hawke says, wincing as his headache makes itself known. "I didn't mean for you to get caught up in this."

Fenris shakes his head. "I couldn't let them kill you."

"They won't be killing anyone," Hawke promises. "I'll get us out of this. Trust me."

He gives the shackles another fruitless yank and looks over to where Fenris' lyrium is glowing faintly beneath the metal. "Can you slide through them or…"

"They're lined with lead," Fenris says, defeated. "They're resistant to lyrium."

"Shit," Hawke says with a sigh. "I wish I could say this was the worst thing to happen to me after falling into bed with someone."

Despite their situation, that draws a small smile from Fenris and Hawke inches closer to the bars as he lowers his voice, "Fenris, listen to me. I'm going to-"

He shuts up at the drum of footsteps on the stairs and looks over to see a handful of guards troop into the dungeon, followed closely by Anders and Corvinus. They're both without their staves, which Hawke can only hope is a good sign, and he stretches his legs out as he stares insolently up at them.

"Well, this is the most disappointing brothel I've ever been in," he says. "Do I have to pick one of you two or can I go for the angry-looking guard who knocked me out? I've always had a weakness for ginger goatees."

Anders glares at him but Corvinus just chuckles. "I do appreciate your bravado, Hawke. It's good to see something other than crying and praying at times."

Hawke holds out his shackled hands with a smile. "Undo these and I can branch out to punching and stabbing too. Maybe even some eye-gouging if you ask nicely."

"Hawke…" Anders says with a sigh but Corvinus holds up a hand to quiet him.

"Unfortunately, I have other things to see to," Corvinus says. "But rest assured, you will receive my full attention in due time." He smirks. "It's a pity you managed to steal your mother's corpse back. It would have been nice to have a matching set."

Anger roils in Hawke's gut and he grits his teeth as he tries to keep a lid on his fury. "And here I was looking forward to some alone time with you."

"Patience," Corvinus says as he moves to stand in front of Fenris' cell. "We have a much more intriguing subject to inspect first."

Fenris glances over at Hawke with barely concealed panic. He shuffles back as much as the chain allows when Corvinus steps inside his cell and Hawke sits up, desperate to draw Corvinus' attention back to him. "Come on, you don't want to go for him to start with. Surely it's better to work up to the glowing lyrium elf rather than jump straight in."

"Tempting," Corvinus says, bending down to inspect Fenris. "But I think this one will be rather resilient. Won't you, elf?"

Fenris ignores him, gaze fixed firmly on the floor, but Hawke jumps when Corvinus moves in swiftly to grip Fenris' chin. Fenris struggles, pulling at his shackles, but he can't wriggle free as Corvinus tilts his face up to get a better look at him.

"Fuck you," he spits but winces when Corvinus' thin fingers dig in harder.

"Such poor manners," Corvinus says, tutting. "I know your master was fond of qunari collars but did he never sew your lips together?"

Fenris' eyes go wide and he shakes his head as much as Corvinus' grip allows.

Corvinus sounds almost disappointed when he sighs. "I suppose I shouldn't be surprised. Danarius was never fond of getting his hands dirty." He leans in closer, tilting Fenris' head to the side as he inspects the lyrium on his throat and chin. "I'd wager he even had someone else carve these markings for him. Artistry of this nature was never his strength."

Fenris pulls away as soon as his grip loosens but Corvinus just wipes his hand on his robe as he straightens up. "Unfortunately I had a prior engagement when the ritual took place. It's a pity -- I would've liked to see the magic used to create them in person." He looks down at Fenris with faint fondness, the way people who aren't Hawke sometimes look at stray dogs. "I did see them shortly afterwards, although I don't expect you would remember me."

Fresh terror lights Fenris' eyes and Hawke yanks on the shackles as he asks, horrified, "You were at the party? Did you…"

Corvinus arches an eyebrow. "Interesting. I wouldn't have thought Fenris would decide to share. It was quite a show. But no." He wrinkles his nose. "I don't fornicate with slaves. You never know where they've been."

Fenris' eyes stay on the floor, his shoulders hunched in humiliation as Corvinus looks at Hawke with a smile. "I suppose I shouldn't expect Ferelden peasants to have the same standards."

"You're a piece of shit," Hawke says flatly.

Corvinus just chuckles. "I may not have indulged in a carnal sense but I did enjoy testing the reaction of the lyrium. Fenris here was very responsive." He rakes his fingers through Fenris' hair, only smiling wider when Fenris recoils. "I'm interested to see if the markings have become more or less sensitive with time."

He snaps his fingers, exiting the cell as he motions to the guards. "Take him up to my workroom. I'll save Hawke for later."

"No!" Hawke shouts, pulling on the shackles as the guards move in to deal with Fenris. Their movements are quick and practiced, binding his wrists and elbows behind his back and wrapping a chain around his throat, and Hawke moves as far forward as he can get when he pleads, "Take me instead. Save the best until last."

"Maybe he's right," Anders says, moving to intercept Corvinus. "The elf is clearly a special case. You could work up to him once you've finished with Hawke."

Corvinus' eyes narrow. "Are you questioning me?"

"Me? No," Anders says quickly. "Just a friendly suggestion?"

"It's not an appealing one," Corvinus says, voice cold. "Do join me in my workroom when you've reconsidered your priorities. An experiment of this nature promises to be fascinating."

Fenris kicks out as the guards haul him out of his cell. Restrained by the lead cuffs and outnumbered by the burly guards, there isn't much he can do as he's dragged up the steps with Corvinus right behind him.

The door swings shut behind them and Hawke sits back on his heels as he looks up at Anders. "Guess it's just you and me, huh, asshole?"

"Charming," Anders mutters as he checks the door. "I'm so glad I get you all to myself."

Hawke lapses into a smile. "Good because I have a pressing question. What is that outfit?"

Anders scowls.

"I'm serious," Hawke says. "Did you roll around in some coal to get into character or did you actually make a matching outfit to convey how 'evil' you are?"

"If we didn't need to go save the elf, I would punch you in the face," Anders says without malice, tossing him a lockpick. "Your gratitude is overwhelming, by the way."

"You couldn't have waited until I was alone before bringing Corvinus by?" Hawke asks. The lockpick fits easily into the cuffs and he jiggles it as he watches Anders pace back and forth. "Fenris doesn't deserve to be caught up in all this."

"None of us deserve to be caught up in this," Anders points out. "Besides, it's not like I steered Corvinus towards him on purpose. When a mass murdering sadist thinks I'm on his side and wants me to take him somewhere, I'm inclined to go with the flow. Shocking, I know."

"Sorry," Hawke says with a sigh. "I know you didn't have much choice and I'm grateful, I just-" The shackles fall away with a clank and he rubs his wrists. "I don't want to leave Fenris with him longer than I need to."

"I can respect that," Anders says. "You jiggle that lock open and we can go kill the son of a bitch." He coughs. "Uh, Corvinus, that is. Not Fenris."

Hawke rolls his eyes as he crouches by the lock on the cell door. "You know, he's pretty great when you get to know him. Fenris, not Corvinus. He's noble and shy and well-intentioned, plus he's a really good kis-"

Anders holds up a hand. "Please stop."

"Stopping." The lockpick clinks against the metal as Hawke pulls it out with a frown. "This isn't working."

Anders hurries closer. "What?"

"It's not a normal lock," Hawke says, running a hand through his hair. "I can't pick it. I think it's magical."

Anders huffs out a sigh as he kneels on the opposite side of the bars and grumbles under his breath, "What is the point of you?"

"I heard that."

"Good," Anders says. His fingers glow with purple sparks as he inspects the lock. "You know Varric is going to have both of us killed for even attempting this."

Hawke shrugs. "Maybe he'll be proud of our initiative?"

"Please believe me when I tell you that Varric has never been proud of us in his entire life."

"There's a first time for everything," Hawke says cheerfully. "If we come back with all our limbs, I think he'll be happy."

"Aiming high, I see," Anders says under his breath. The lock clinks as it opens and he lets out a noise of triumph. "What would you do without me?"

"I feel like there would be less smugness in my life," Hawke says honestly. "Also fewer stray feathers."

Anders narrows his eyes as he pulls the cell door open. "You know, now would be a great time to start building morale."

A scream of pain echoes from somewhere above them, bouncing off the stone of the dungeon, and Hawke straightens up. From experience, Fenris doesn't seem like the type to scream easily and that only amplifies Hawke's concern about just how much pain Corvinus is inflicting.

"Dodge sharp objects," he says to Anders as they head for the door. "Don't turn your back on Corvinus. Don't accidentally kill Fenris. Don't die."

"That may be the best plan you've ever had," Anders says with worrying sincerity. His hand comes to rest on Hawke's shoulder as they stop in front of the door. "Ready when you are."

Hawke kicks the door down before they can second guess themselves.


	9. Chapter 9

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Last part! Apologies again for the very slow updates but thank you so much to everyone who's been reading - it is very much appreciated. <333

"Help!"

Anders' limp is remarkably convincing as he hobbles down the hallway, hair falling in his face and weight supported on his stolen staff. "The prisoner got loose," he gasps. "Maker, there's so much blood."

The guards don't budge from their position at the door to Corvinus' workroom and Hawke hides back around the corner as Anders tries again.

"And intestines!" Anders says with feeling. "Just so many internal organs all over the place. I still have some kidney stuck in my shoe. We really need your help."

One of the guards lets out a suspicious grunt and Anders glances over his shoulder with a look of despair.

Behind the door, Fenris' screams give way to pleas and Hawke can't bring himself to wait much longer.

A dagger he lifted from the break room lands neatly in the neck of one of the men and Hawke charges out from his hiding place with a yell as the second guard spins around in confusion. Belatedly, Hawke realises he should have come up with a better attack plan but as he goes barrelling into the unlucky guard, he decides it's too late for subtlety.

The door crashes open under their combined weight and Hawke braces for impact as they tumble to the floor. Hawke's blade slips past the guard's armor to sink into his heart but he barely breaks momentum as he springs back to his feet with a second pair of daggers drawn.

"What do you think you're-"

Corvinus' complaint comes to an abrupt halt when he turns to see the source of the interruption.

Anders moves in behind him, staff already blazing with fire, but Hawke's meticulous plans for a dramatic showdown are forgotten when he sees Fenris on his knees beside Corvinus. He's alive and conscious, which is a good start, but the chains holding his wrists above his head and the eerie glow of his markings are not reassuring signs.

"I suppose I should have expected this," Corvinus says, looking at Anders with a sigh. "Such a shame. You had so much potential."

"You did make a compelling case," Anders says. "I'm just not that into killing people." Corvinus arches an eyebrow and Anders gulps. "All the blood and the lightning was very dramatic though. Solid pitch."

"Enough," Corvinus snaps. "It's a pity I won't be able to take my time with you both but I have what I came for." He reaches out to run his fingers through Fenris' hair and Hawke grits his teeth when he sees Fenris flinch back in fear. "He's been quite obe-"

Hawke's blade sinks into flesh before he can finish.

As surprise attacks go, it's one of Hawke's more successful attempts. Corvinus reacts quick enough to avoid sharp steel slicing through his throat but the impact of the dagger against his shoulder sends him stumbling backwards with a bellow of pain.

His distraction provides an opening and Anders capitalises on it with a heavy blast of force magic to send Corvinus flying against the nearest wall. Lightning crackles between Anders' fingers when he steps forward, focused on containment rather than killing, and Hawke claps him on the shoulder before dashing over to Fenris.

The confusion on Fenris' face is understandable but no less upsetting when he looks up at him, lyrium flickering along his throat. "Hawke?"

"I'm so sorry," Hawke says. "We never meant for it to happen like this."

He reaches up for the shackles holding Fenris in place but Fenris pulls back when Hawke's fingers brush the lyrium at his wrists. "No-"

"Sorry," Hawke says again, sliding his pick into the lock. "This really isn't my day, is it?"

One lock comes free and Fenris sways, drained, as Hawke goes to work on the second. Behind them, Anders cries out in pain and Hawke picks up the pace when he feels the heat of flames on the back of his neck.

Fenris all but collapses when he's released, curling his arms in against his chest as the lyrium flares erratically. His jaw is clenched tight against the pain and Hawke hesitates, at a loss as to how to help him. "Can you-"

His question is curtailed as Anders goes tumbling into the table beside them, smashing the racks of vials and scattering Corvinus' equipment across the floor.

Hawke's reassured to see that he's alive, albeit slow-moving, as he pushes himself up with a groan, and he plants himself in front of both Fenris and Anders as he turns to face Corvinus.

It's deeply satisfying to see how much of a mess Corvinus has become. There's a ragged wound in his shoulder, spilling blood onto his torn robe, and blood and dirt is smeared across his face from where Anders threw him into the wall. The sleeves of his robe are singed from fire and lightning and if Hawke wasn't so terrified, he might have laughed at the outraged fury on Corvinus' face.

"Pathetic," Corvinus spits. "All these years of hating me and that's the best you can accomplish?" His staff flies into his hand, already pulsing with dark magic. "I was intending to make it quick but now…"

His teeth are bloodied when he smiles. "Let's see if you scream as loud as your mother."

Hawke raises his arms for protection as the spell flies from Corvinus' staff. Braced for pain, he's caught off guard by the sharp tug on the back of his shirt and the spell sails over his head as he topples back to the ground. "What-"

Fenris is a blur when he springs forward.

His markings are bright white, blazing from his toes to the tips of his ears as he dashes across the workroom. He slows long enough to lift a greatsword from the body of one of the fallen guards but there's a grim smile on his face when he rises to face Corvinus.

Corvinus narrows his eyes. "I'm going to have words with your master when I return to Minrathous."

"Doubtful." Fenris' smile doesn't fade as he circles Corvinus. "But I'll be sure to send him your regards."

He swings before Corvinus can say anything further. The blade is long, almost taller than Fenris, and Hawke pulls himself back to his feet as he watches Corvinus stumble back to avoid the blow. After seeing him wield a short blade so often — two-handers aren't typically the best for stealth assassinations — it's a little unsettling to see Fenris with a new weapon but as Fenris presses his advantage, it doesn't take Hawke long to realise he has experience.

He's fast, faster than Hawke's ever seen in a two-handed fighter. His strikes curve through the air in smooth arcs, forcing Corvinus to retreat or face losing a limb, but Fenris doesn't lose any of his ferocity when Corvinus pulls himself together enough to strike back.

Each spell is a near-miss, whistling past Fenris as he weaves gracefully out of the way of each strike, and for the first time, Hawke starts to understand why Fenris has the reputation he does when it comes to killing magisters.

"Enough!"

Corvinus is out of breath as he fade-steps across the room, putting just enough space between him and Fenris to throw up a barrier.

Fenris' sword slams into it without success and he backs up instantly, glancing over to Hawke and Anders as he warns, "Shades."

He isn't wrong in his assessment and Hawke hauls Anders the rest of the way to his feet as dark hands claw their way up from beneath the stone floor. "Shit."

Healing magic flares briefly in Anders' hand but he claps it quickly to his ribs and raises his staff to skewer two of the shades on icy spikes before they can make it out of the ground.

Kicking one in the face as he goes, Hawke slides on the newly-created ice to retrieve a second blade from the guard's ribs before ducking a swipe of claws to drive both daggers into a rage demon's back. Across the room, Fenris hefts his blade above his head before bringing it down through two unfortunate shades while Anders fells two more with a stonefist powerful enough to make the whole room shudder.

The rage demon thrashes on Hawke's blades, reaching back for him with a growl, and Hawke winces at the burning swipe to his upper arm before jamming his dagger up through its head.

It screams as it dies, fading back beneath his feet, and Hawke rolls his shoulders as he turns in time to see Corvinus' barrier fade.

The spell is already building around his staff, an ominous black fog hovering at the end, and Corvinus casts before Hawke can strike.

Hawke recoils when the horror spell lands, the familiar screech of demons filling his ears, and he shakes his head in a failed attempt to dispell it. "No…"

"Shhh."

The voice is familiar. Hawke doesn't want to look, knows better than to look, but he can't tear his eyes away from the shambling vision that emerges from the shadows on the opposite side of the room.

"No"

His mother smiles wide, rotting teeth visible in her cut-open mouth. "Hush now. I have a gift."

There's a leash held tight in her broken fingers and Hawke follows it, horrified, to see Fenris on his knees beside her. He whimpers from behind stitched-shut lips, a heavy collar keeping his chin raised, and Hawke can't tell whether it's wine or blood running down over the bruises on his face.

"Fenris-"

The impact of the next spell feels like getting slapped with a bucket of ice-water. Hawke stumbles back, blinking as the images disappear, and he looks up in confusion as Anders yells, "Hawke, snap out of it!"

His hand is glowing purple, a second dispell ready to go, but Hawke holds his hand up as he shakes off the last of the unease. "I'm okay."

The weight of his daggers is solid and reassuring, matched only by the sight of Fenris alive and well and laying into Corvinus with renewed vigour, and Hawke shifts his grip on the blades as he leaps in to join the fray.

Between Corvinus' spells and Fenris' swings, it's not easy to find an opening but as Fenris leads Corvinus to the right, Hawke ducks in behind them to land a solid strike to Corvinus' back. Corvinus shouts in anger, catching Fenris hard across the face with his staff as he whips around, and Hawke staggers under the force of a mind blast that's nearly strong enough to knock his teeth out.

Fenris recovers faster, buoyed by a fresh spell from Anders, and his lyrium flashes blue as he kicks off the wall, leaping at Corvinus with his sword raised.

Corvinus' eyes go wide but even as he throws himself to the side, he isn't fast enough to avoid the blow entirely.

Fenris' blade catches his arm at the elbow. It's a clean slice, hacking through bone and muscle and sinew, and Hawke watches in sick fascination as Corvinus' arm falls to the ground with a wet thud.

Corvinus' roar of pain is somewhere between glorious and terrifying. He sways, overbalancing at the loss of his arm, and blood pours from the stump as he catches himself on his staff.

"You-" Fury wins out over decorum as he snarls at Fenris, "I will see you crucified in front of the Senate for this!"

Enjoying the rush of success, Hawke looks over to Fenris to see which of them wants to finish him off but he frowns when he sees the fear on Fenris' face. Anders looks equally pale, backing up against the wall, and Hawke finally catches on when he sees the spilled blood begin to rise from the floor around them. "Shit…"

The pull of the blood magic catches him before he can even take a step backward. Choking, Hawke collapses to his knees as the spell claws at every last bit of energy he has left. Beside him, Fenris' sword falls from his grip as he struggles to free himself and Hawke can't do anything but look to Anders for help as Corvinus aims a sharp burst of blood magic in his direction.

Slow by exhaustion, Anders dodges, barely avoiding the spell in time, and Hawke's heart sinks when a weak spirit bolt is the only retaliation he can muster.

Hawke's heart then actually stops for a moment when Anders' bolt hits him instead of Corvinus.

The blast knocks him backward, sending him crashing into a crate, and Hawke groans in pain as he tries to remember how to breathe. His pained confusion fades in an instant when he pulls in a deep breath, now safely outside the range of the crippling blood magic, and he drags himself to his feet with renewed hope.

Corvinus' attention is still on Anders and Hawke winces in sympathy when throws Anders hard against the wall with a wave of his staff. "I suppose I shouldn't have expected a southern mage to have any real talent."

Anders collapses, groaning, and Corvinus kicks Fenris in the ribs as he writhes under the onslaught of blood magic. "Worthless," he says with a sneer as he turns to Hawke. "All of y-"

He's silenced by the sudden slide of Hawke's blade through his chest.

His eyes widen, mouth opening and closing in shocked pain even as saliva starts to gather at the corner of his lips, and Hawke drives the dagger in deeper as blood drips down the blade. The roar of magic fades, the bloody mist settling once again on the stone, and Hawke drinks in the stunned expression on Corvinus' face as he looks down at his chest.

"You-"

Corvinus chokes on the word, mouth going numb as more and more blood spills from his wound, but Hawke holds him there as he watches his eyes start to dim.

"You deserve worse than this," he says quietly, "but I'll take what I can get."

Corvinus' staff clatters to the ground as his body convulses and Hawke pulls the dagger out in one swift motion to let him drop to the floor. It's not a dignified end, mutilated and bleeding out on the floor of his own workroom, but as Corvinus' body goes still, Hawke decides it's a fitting one.

His satisfaction is short-lived, soon replaced by emptiness and exhaustion, but Hawke opts not to examine it too closely as he hurries over to where Fenris is struggling to stand.

Across the room Anders is conscious (and grumbling) as he picks himself up off the floor and so Hawke has no qualms about focusing his attention on Fenris as he helps him to his feet. "Are you all right?"

Fenris nods, jaw clenched as he sways under Hawke's hands. "I've had worse encounters with blood magic." Hawke raises his eyebrows and Fenris shrugs as he admits, "I've also had better days."

"I'm sorry," Hawke says honestly. "I didn't mean for it to happen like this."

Fenris hesitates, looking between him and Anders as he says, "You planned this."

"I planned part of it," Hawke says. "It was an outline at best. Anders was going to pretend to side with Corvinus long enough to get me inside. We didn't count on you getting involved at all."

Fenris eyes him with suspicion. "You weren't relying on Corvinus taking an interest in me?"

"Absolutely not," Hawke promises. "You weren't a distraction." He pauses. "Okay, I guess you were in the end but I never wanted that. I was supposed to be the one getting mildly tortured, not you."

"And the mage?"

"On our side," Hawke says. "Always. This was never supposed to happen this way. I never planned on you being there when Corvinus came for me and I definitely never planned on you getting hurt." He tries for a smile. "There's a reason Varric's the mastermind when it comes to plans."

Fenris frowns. "The others don't know?"

"No," Hawke says sheepishly. "We decided to go rogue. Or, well, I decided to go rogue and somehow talked Anders into helping me. He's very easily swayed. It's embarrassing, really."

Fenris smiles a little at that and straightens up as he asks, "So everything that happened last night…"

"Was genuine." He badly wants to pull Fenris' in for a reassuring hug but after all that's happened, he keeps his distance as he says with a smile, "I'm still inordinately fond of your nose. And all the rest of you."

Fenris' cheeks colour at the compliment and Hawke says quietly, "I know last night brought up some stuff and I know I haven't exactly covered myself in glory today but I meant all I said yesterday. If you want to leave, I won't try to stop you but if you stay…" He gives a tiny shrug. "Well, I'm still here if you want me."

Fenris catches his lip between his teeth as he looks up at Hawke. "You'd let me work with you?"

"Are you kidding?" Hawke says with a grin. "I saw you fight — I'd let you take every job we get. I can just sit at home and look pretty."

Fenris smiles at that, reaching up to wipe some blood off Hawke's face. His thumb is warm as it brushes his cheek but Hawke manfully resists the urge to kiss him.

"And Corvinus?" Fenris asks. "Was it just him or is there anyone else we need to deal with?"

"Just him," Hawke says. "I'm a free agent once again." Remembering Fenris' comment the night before, he offers, "The body is all yours if you want. I'm sure the magisters would love to have one of their own back."

Fenris' brow furrows in thought as he considers the corpse at their feet. "I may just send back the head."

"An excellent choice," Hawke says, grinning. "So, if his head is going back to Tevinter, does that mean you're staying?"

Fenris does a terrible job of hiding his smile when he looks up at him. "Perhaps."

"Perhaps?" Hawke moves in, resting his hands at Fenris' waist. "I guess I'll have to do a better job of convincing you."

Fenris does smile at that. "I wouldn't be averse to persuasion."

"Really?" Hawke teases, lips almost brushing Fenris'. "One attempt at persuasion, coming right up."

He closes the gap between them in an instant, enjoying the noise of pleased surprise Fenris makes before he relaxes into the kiss. He's warmer this time, skin sheened with sweat rather than rainwater, but he's no less eager as he wraps his arms around Hawke's neck to pull him down into a slow, deep kiss.

There's a groan from across the room but neither of them break away from the kiss as Anders mutters, "Don't mind me."

Something clatters as he picks his way across the workroom but Hawke doesn't look up to see what it is.

"I'm just a crucial double agent," Anders says from behind them. "No need to thank me. You carry on kissing — I'll just be over here."

 

 

:::

 

 

The sun has already set by the time Hawke makes it up onto the roof.

The moon is thin and half-cloaked by cloud, and Hawke curses under his breath when he smacks his head on the edge of the skylight in the darkness. A couple of grapes escape from the bowl, rolling back down onto the landing, and Hawke resolves to find them in the morning as he hauls himself up into the night air.

Fenris' lyrium gleams when he glances back from the edge of the roof, the glow of it lighting Hawke's path as he picks his way down to take a seat next to him.

"Is your head all right?"

Hawke's cheeks heat as he rubs the bump on his head. "You heard that, huh?"

Fenris taps one of his ears. "There are some advantages to being an elf."

"What, hearing people embarrass themselves?"

"Of course."

It's said without the slightest hint of remorse and Hawke chuckles as he leans over to kiss him on the cheek. "I suppose it's a fair trade. I did get you kidnapped and tortured."

"I believe Corvinus should get the credit for that," Fenris points out, leaning into Hawke's side. "I almost regret not being in Minrathous when my delivery arrives."

"Varric has spies everywhere," Hawke says. "I'm sure we'll get a very descriptive report of just how furious the magisterium is."

Pacified, Fenris dangles his feet off the edge of the roof as Hawke says, "On the subject of Varric, he says he'll have us killed in our sleep if we try anything like the Corvinus job again. He's concerned his chest hair will fall out from the stress." He smiles, holding out the bowl of grapes for Fenris' attention. "Also he said you're more than welcome to work with us whenever you like."

"Tell him thank you," Fenris says, picking out a couple of grapes. "I know I haven't been a very reliable person to work with."

"With good reason," Hawke says. "If Galbus had done that to any of us, we would've killed him on the spot too." He pauses. "Except maybe Isabela. For someone so fond of rash decisions, she's surprisingly good at holding it together if it means someone dies in an even more unpleasant way down the road."

"Hmm." Fenris considers this for a moment. "Good to know."

"Besides," Hawke continues, "I think Varric's just happy that you were there to save me and Anders from certain death."

Fenris frowns. "But you were the ones who rescued me."

"You would've got out eventually," Hawke says with confidence. "Me and Anders, on the other hand, definitely wouldn't have been able to kill Corvinus without you."

"Hawke, I was nearly unconscious."

"You were amazing," Hawke corrects. "I know I've seen you fight before but…" He whistles. "You were so quick. I don't know how you dodged half those spells, especially holding a sword that was bigger than you."

Fenris looks down. "It's the lyrium. It- I was trained to fight."

"You were fantastic." He kisses him on the cheek again and his voice softens as he tucks Fenris' hair behind his ear. "Thank you."

Fenris looks over, surprised, and Hawke elaborates, "For helping me. I'm not sure revenge was all I hoped it would be but it's definitely a start. I'm grateful."

Fenris turns to face him, tucking his leg underneath himself. "You don't feel better now Corvinus is dead?"

"Oh, I feel better," Hawke says. Around them, candles flicker in the windows of the Hightown houses and he looks up to the stillness of the stars instead. "I just don't feel fixed. I thought maybe I'd be able to move on or stop missing her so much but-" He swallows past the lump in his throat. "I need to give it time, I guess."

Fenris' hand comes to rest on his thigh but Hawke's relieved to see sympathy rather than pity on his face when he looks at him. "It will get easier," he says. "I promise."

"I know," Hawke says, summoning a smile. "I'm just impatient."

Fenris' smile is soft when he leans in to kiss him. "Then let me provide a distraction."

His lips are gentle against Hawke's, grape juice lingering on his tongue, and Hawke finds himself calming at the heat of Fenris' body next to his.

It's a challenge to break away and he gives Fenris another quick kiss on the lips by way of apology. "We probably shouldn't have sex on the roof."

Fenris smiles. "The neighbours?"

"The height," Hawke says. "I don't trust my balance and unlike Lord Sauveterre, I'm low on shrubbery."

Fenris laughs and reaches for another couple of grapes. "That was quite an introduction."

"I do like to stand out," Hawke teases. "That bruise from your elbow took days to fade."

"I shall endeavour to be more careful next time you throw me out of a window," Fenris says, bumping his shoulder against Hawke's. His lyrium shimmers in the moonlight, the shine of it reflected in his eyes, and Hawke marvels once again at how lucky he is to have got here.

"So," he asks, leaning back on his elbows and popping a grape into his mouth, "have I talked you into joining us for good? The whole teamwork thing has its perks."

He wiggles his eyebrows and Fenris rolls his eyes as he settles beside him on the rooftop. "We are not having sex on the job."

"What if we have to pretend to be a couple in order to kill someone?" Hawke asks. "What if we nearly get caught and have to look inconspicuous? Oh!" He beams. "What if we need to infiltrate an orgy?"

"We are not infiltrating an orgy."

Hawke lets out a pained sigh. "Why must you crush my dreams?"

"You need better dreams," Fenris says, patting him on the chest.

"I'll work on that."

The clouds shift above them, revealing a little more of the moon, and Hawke looks over to see the contented little smile on Fenris' face as he stares up at the stars. "What about you? Are you happy to branch out to jobs which don't involve assassinations?"

"As long as they don't also involve orgies," Fenris says, smiling. "But yes. I'm happy to take other jobs." His hand finds Hawke's, fingers curling together even as his gaze lingers on the stars. "I wish to stay with you."

Unable to keep the smile off his face, Hawke leans over to kiss him on the cheek. "I wish to stay with you too."

Setting the bowl of grapes aside, Hawke taps his fingers on his stomach as he thinks aloud, "Besides, I'm sure we can still find some magisters who need killing. We could even specialise in that. Maybe Varric would let us rename the whole thing!"

He tilts his head in contemplation. "How about 'Magisteri-none'? Like magisterium but with-"

Fenris' lips are on his before he can say any more. He's about sixty percent sure that the kiss is mostly to shut him up but as Fenris climbs over to straddle his hips, Hawke decides he can live with that.

(With any luck, they'll be together for years. He'll have plenty of time to come up with great names for their shiny new criminal enterprise.)


End file.
